Be Careful What You Wish For
by smuffly
Summary: One moment in time can change everything. A strange gift means that Adam has to make some important decisions. This story takes place after Season 9 and features the whole team.
1. Chapter 1

**BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR**

_**A tale for Christmas.**_

**Chapter One**

Evening in New York.

Fog crept through the city streets, drawn from the river like a famished creature seeking warm souls to devour. Its progress was relentless and its hunger was insatiable. All things were swallowed up by its shapeless, rolling form. Sound was muffled; light was extinguished. Those people lucky enough to be indoors on such a night fled upwards if they could and peered through high windows with a sense of morbid fascination as their city disappeared beneath them.

Old Abe was not so lucky. Huddled in his ancient coat, he sat on a low step and dreamed of golden palaces, gleaming in the sunlight. Lazy fountains, lacquered wood and minarets. A different time and place. The visions were fleeting, like the figures that came and went through the mist, but they warmed him all the same.

Just not enough.

The word was 'pinched', he thought, rousing from his thoughts only to feel a vague sense of curiosity at the numbness which was claiming him. 'Pinched' and 'squeezed' until there was nothing vital left at all. A silent enemy, this fog. It slipped through your defences, freezing you slowly from the outside in with a touch so keen that you never felt it enter. A sly blade wielded by a stone-cold assassin. His dreams were blissful but his cheeks were tight with pain and his feet slept uneasily in their worn-out shoes. He could not feel his toes.

Death was coming. Finally. And this was the way his world would end, it seemed. "'Not with a bang but a whimper'*," he murmured, watching the phrase leave his lips in a white cloud that slowly mingled with the mist around him. Lost words; fading away. Just like him.

A door creaked. "Excuse me...?" said a faltering voice above him.

_Move on, _Abe predicted. _Move on and begone with you. _Always the same, in this hellish city. Move on and be someone else's problem...

"No one's problem, soon enough," he muttered grimly. Even his voice felt pinched. "Not after tonight. Leave me be."

"Oh - no! That's not what I... Look." The man stepped closer, his bright red sneakers trudging down the steps until they reached Old Abe.

Peering up through the curling mist, Abe's dark gaze met a pair of blue eyes, narrowed with concern. A Do-Gooder, then. Troublesome, or so he had always found in his experience.

"Leave me be, young man," he repeated. "I'm dying here. It's long overdue, believe me, so you've no cause to interfere."

"Wrong," the man said, crouching down beside him. Already, beads of mist were clinging to his scruffy chestnut curls and his skimpy beard. He shivered in his thin shirt. "You can't die here."

"Just you _try_ and send me to a hospital!" Groaning with the effort, Abe surged to his feet... and trembled, leaning back against the post. He clenched his frozen fists in a hopeless attempt to conceal his dismay. It wouldn't do to show the man how weak he really was. "I don't need saving."

"I'm not going to save you. I'm no saint, okay? But I thought... well, I thought that maybe you were hungry? I have Chinese food," he offered brightly. "More than I can eat all by myself... You like Chinese food?"

"I have a fine regard for all things oriental." Abe's tone was lofty. At the same time, his empty stomach gurgled. The young man grinned; a strangely reassuring sight.

"Guess that settles it, then." He held out his hand and the smile broadened. "You can get back to your 'other business' later. Or, you know - maybe not..."

"I told you," Old Abe warned him. "It's my time."

"Whatever you say." The remark was flippant, but the young man's face was stubborn. Before Old Abe knew quite how it had happened, there was a firm hand at his elbow and a friendly arm to take his weight, if he chose to trust it. Which, oddly, he did.

Abe's manners, long forgotten, rose through the fog in his mind. "A thousand blessings on you for your kindness," he said, by rote. It took some effort but he felt a sense of pride that he had thought of it.

"Which means 'thank you', I guess. And you're welcome," the young man said. "I'm Adam, by the way. Adam Ross. You're Old Abe, right? I mean..." Looking flustered, he shook his head. "I'm sorry; that's just what they call you round here. I don't know your real name."

"My 'real' name is mine to keep and always shall be." Abe stretched and cracked his back, drawing himself up to be as tall as he could manage. "'Old Abe' is who I am now, for my sins. But you may call me Abraham, if you wish. Abraham... Nazar." For one dreadful moment, he had quite forgotten. The past was truly slipping away. It would not be long before the present followed after it. And as for the future... _I want none of that, _thought Abraham Nazar as the man named Adam led him through the doorway into the dim shadow and the impossible warmth of his apartment building.

-x0x-

"Make yourself at home," Adam said, aware as he did so of just how small the apartment really was. Every time he moved, the world seemed to shrink around him these days - until here he was at last in a one-roomed cave with a pull-out couch for a bed and a burly tattooed neighbour who had a penchant for Whitesnake and Iron Maiden at three in the morning. So much for upward mobility. His wage may be steady enough but the cost of living in New York City soared higher each year, like the towers that formed its skyline. Still, all things were relative. At least he _had_ a home. Staring discreetly at Old Abe, he tried to wrap his head around the harsh reality of life on the street. Walls could keep out the bad things (or sometimes lock them in with you) but how scary must it be to have no bolthole whatsoever? No place to hide away from prying eyes or the relentless sky above?

"Stop that," Abe said sharply, twisting his neck like a wrung-out piece of cloth in order to glare at Adam. What, did the old man have eyes in the back of his head? If so, how could they manage to see through those scraggly locks and that battered old hat? Abe's hands were stuffed in the pockets of his voluminous coat, which held the faintest glimmer of an old embroidered glory. Beneath the velvet weight, his thin frame reacted with shuddering violence to the bone-deep transition from cold to comfort. Adam felt ashamed.

"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to stare. Well, no - I guess I did, but that doesn't make it right. It's just... I wondered..."

"Wondering's bad for you. Take it from me." Old Abe shrugged his acceptance of Adam's apology. Hunching over, he wrapped his arms around his chest and rode the tremors until, at long last, they subsided, melting away through the coarse rug and leaving him breathless.

"Coffee?" Adam was starting to feel quite nervous by now. What on earth had he let himself in for? Curiosity and kindness had turned out to be a potent combination, driving him outside before he even knew what he was doing. Now here he was with a total stranger standing in the middle of his apartment. The man could be insane. He could be a murderer. He could be...

A lonely human being with nowhere to go on the worst and longest night of the year.

Adam stepped towards his little kitchenette. "Black and strong," Abe called after him. "None of your mimsy-pimsy cappuccinos."

And there, at last, was something that they had in common. "No chance," Adam said with relish. "I like my dose of caffeine strong enough to stand a spoon in."

They smiled at each other - a moment of time that was silent and shy. When Adam broke away to fill the coffee maker, Old Abe began to wander slowly around the apartment, studying the shelves and the pictures on the walls. Adam could have asked him to 'stop that' - made a petty point - but he chose not to. _Take me as I am,_ he thought. _I've got nothing to hide._

The old man passed by his record collection - Adam's pride and joy - without a second glance, but paused by the bookshelf and started to finger the neatly-ranged volumes. Adam bit back an urge to stop him. Grime was irrelevant. Books were for sharing.

"Science," Old Abe murmured, stroking the back of a textbook. "And fantasy." He dragged its heavy neighbour from the shelf and started to flick through the pages, stopping to study each brightly-coloured plate. Fairy tales and legends. Adam knew them all by heart. They had been his escape and he loved them. "A curious mixture, Adam Ross."

"That's me," he sighed. "In a nutshell, really."

The coffee was brewing by now, its strong smell pervading the room and masking the heady odour that rose from Old Abe - the scent of a thousand and one filthy nights on the street.

Abe set the book back in its proper place with care and turned to his host. "You said something about food?" he murmured, clutching the shelf in a move that was meant to be unseen.

"Of course!" Adam hurried over and steered the old man to his little round table, helping him into a seat. Abe dropped with a sigh of relief that was dragged from his throat like the breath of a dying man. "You're sick," Adam said, his own throat tight with compassion.

"I'm old," Abe replied, with utter dignity.

"_How_ old?" The question was in the air between them before Adam had any chance to stop it. "Sorry," he muttered, contrite and horrified by his own lack of manners. His guest, however, was unperturbed.

"If my life were an hourglass, I would have turned it countless times already, catching the last grains of sand before they fell." Abe shook his head. "Tonight, it seems, I do not have the strength to turn it even one more time. Or the will. The grains are falling. Soon they will be done."

"You shouldn't talk like that," Adam said softly. "It sounds like you're giving up. Things always have a way of getting better."

"A young man's view. And you're right - they did. But I squandered my chances. Made the worst of all possible choices. And so here I am, as you see me."

The man talked in riddles. Adam's head was beginning to spin.

"Kung Pao chicken," he blurted out randomly.

"Delightful." Old Abe nodded. Watching the wrinkles ease in his face as he let his guard down further, Adam saw that he must have been a fiercely handsome man, once upon a time.

-x0x-

The young man possessed a quiet kind of magic, it seemed. The more he talked about simple things and smiled that charming smile of his, the more he put Old Abe at his ease. A trick that wiser men had never mastered_,_ Abe thought, as he settled back into his chair with a full belly and a sense of bewildered satisfaction. For one thing, it required empathy, something that this Adam clearly understood.

The web of warmth and comfort spun around him and before he even knew what was happening, he had agreed to stay overnight. "I'm not letting you go back out there," Adam insisted with dogged determination. "The fog's worse than ever and I'm sure it's below freezing. Argue with me all you like, but you know I'm right, okay, Abraham - and that means you're never going to win." He grinned as he spoke, but all the jesting in the world couldn't hide his stubborn intent.

"On the floor," Abe capitulated.

"No," Adam said. "That's where I'll be. You can take the bed. I mean the couch. I mean... oh, you get the picture."

"I do," Abe said solemnly. "Thank you." To turn his back upon the young man's gesture now would be an injustice that he could not bring himself to perpetrate.

Besides, it was so deliciously warm in here...

Midnight passed. Adam left a single lamp burning and pulled a cosy bundle from the cupboard, followed by a pillow and a sleeping bag. The couch transformed with creaking ease into its alter ego. He set down the roly-poly pile of bedding and turned to go. "I'll be over there if you need anything," he offered, pointing in the direction of his tiny dining area.

Abe clasped his palms together and offered the young man a slight bow. There were no words strong enough to express his gratitude. He sighed, as Adam walked away, to think of all the friends in his long life that had been pushed aside by his own greed and independence. "Foolish, Abraham," he whispered. This lesson, at least, had been learned far too late.

Or had it?

For a long while, he perched on the side of the bed, his dark eyes staring at the dim light, unseeing. Through his mind there ran, not many thoughts, but one; so strong that he could not deny it, no matter how hard he tried. "Is it fair?" he muttered to himself, at one point, speaking his concern aloud. "Will it do more harm than good? I would not wish him ill..."

His hand slid deep into the lining of his coat, which lay beside him. Pulling out a tiny silver box, he stroked the surface, as he had done many times before, throughout the long years. The carving on the lid was almost worn away; the mounted jewel lost and the edges battered - but the seal remained strong.

_It's a question of character, _he realised. And that, in the end, was the thought that drove his decision. It felt good, this 'giving up' of the thing that he held most dear, and Abe let out a deep sigh of satisfaction such as he had never breathed before.

The room was warm but, running through his veins, he began to feel a new kind of chill; the magic of life receding. Here at the end, time was precious. He rose to his feet and shuffled across to Adam's desk. Tearing an empty page from a notepad, he wrote upon it with a shaky hand; one line only. Then he folded it twice. Box and page were laid beside the sleeping man, who did not stir but only gave a gentle snore and rolled over, twitching and lost in his dreams.

Abe returned to bed.

Lying down upon his back, he placed his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling with an unexpected sense of peace. _Time's up._ The numbness continued to spread, not painful this time but pleasant. Old Abe waited for the last breath to leave his body as the first light of dawn broke through the lingering fog. Meanwhile, Adam slept on.

-x0x-

**A/N: This story will be updated roughly once a week until the holidays, when things should speed up!**

*** Abe's quote comes from The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot.**


	2. Chapter 2

**BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR**

**Chapter Two**

Jo Danville stumbled into her apartment and closed the door behind her as gently as she could, but it was already too late. Down the hallway, another door cracked open and a tousled head appeared. Ellie's eyes were barely open, yet she knew the signs - would have known them in her sleep. "Late night?" she mumbled.

"The very latest," Jo sighed. "Go back to sleep, honey. You've got school tomorrow."

"Don't you mean today?" As she spoke, Ellie roused herself further. "Want some warm milk or something? I could get it for you."

Jo's heart swelled. A simple act of kindness; that was all it took to cancel out the darkness of the scene that she had left behind her. Horrors in the middle of the night. The stuff of bad dreams. Thank God for her daughter. "No thanks, _'__mom'_," she quipped, fighting hard to keep the emotion from her voice. Lord, she was tired. "Truth be told, I couldn't lift the mug. I'm just going to crash out for a couple of hours. You know me; I'll be fine."

Ellie's eyes were round by now and full of ironic amusement. "That's not what you say when _I _want to stay up really late and watch a movie, or chat with my friends online."

"My skills are finely honed. Years of practice." Jo smiled. Reaching her daughter, she gave her a gentle shove back into the bedroom and shut the door. "Sleep. Now."

"Ditto," Ellie called back. Jo could picture the smug look on her face.

Her own room was cold and lost in shadow. Throwing her coat at a nearby chair (and missing), she flopped onto the bed with such a huge sense of relief that it was almost overwhelming. "No shower," she mumbled. "Too sleepy." She knew from experience that the rush of water, whether hot or cold, would be far too invigorating for this time of night. Besides, her eyes were already beginning to close. Just a few seconds more and...

_Beep!_

"Oh, come _on_!" she groaned. "Give me a break, why don't you?" The cell phone was in her coat pocket, she knew, but its muffled tone was bossy and insistent, like an over-anxious secretary.

_Beep!_ it said again. Another message.

Jo clapped her hands across her ears and contemplated flushing the damnable thing down the toilet.

_Beep!_

Third time was the charm. With a sigh, she raised her head and stared across the dark room. If someone was that keen to get hold of her, then it had to be important. Tyler? Mac...?

"Don't you _tell _me this is yet another call-out," Jo muttered as she rolled off the edge of the bed, landed on her knees and began to crawl across the floor. It was easier, somehow... "What, am I the only one who works late any more?" she added plaintively.

Reaching her coat more by good luck than an accurate sense of direction, she dug around in its tangled folds until she found the offending cell phone. A green light was flashing. "I _know,_" she told it crossly. Oh yes, there they were alright - three messages, waiting for her. When she brought up the first one, a picture of Adam's face appeared. Unexpected. His grin, in the photo, was wide and his blue eyes were cheeky. His message, however, was most peculiar.

_Sorry to bother you,_ it said. Just that, and nothing else.

Okay...

Jo brought up the second one, curious by now.

_I mean, can you come over?_

Oh, great.

The third message made her giggle. She couldn't help it.

_It's Adam, btw._

As if there could be any doubt. "Oh, Adam," Jo sighed, resting her phone on her lap for a moment and wondering what to do. In the end, of course, there was only one option.

_Is it urgent? _she typed back, knowing full well that it must be, yet hoping, even now...

_Yes. _The reply came quickly. Jo clambered to her feet, a little faster than she should have done, wide-awake at last and swaying with the shock of it.

_Then I'm on my way._

-x0x-

The moment she saw his face, Jo guessed that Adam had been crying. The room behind him was dimly lit - on purpose, she suspected - and there was a self-conscious, downward tilt to his head as he greeted her quietly. "Hey, Jo."

The smell of Chinese food and coffee lingered but they could not mask a darker scent that lay beneath; rank and bitter, like cold wet ashes. Jo swallowed, trying not to let her own face reveal her discomfort.

"Whatever's the matter?" she asked. "Are you sick?" Always her first thought, these days. She couldn't help herself.

"Oh! no. I'm fine," he reassured her. "Look - thanks for coming. I would have called Mac, but..."

No need to finish his sentence. They both knew what he meant. The boss was a married man now, with a wife of his own and a life to go home to. Deep down, where she hid her innermost feelings, Jo felt a twinge of... something . Not envy, exactly, but longing, unfulfilled, for the simple happiness that Mac had found. The feeling was petty and mean, and not worth holding onto so she pushed it away. Besides, Adam had called _her_. And that meant something too.

"Tell me," she offered simply.

Knowing the man as she did, Jo expected some kind of nervous, long-winded explanation at this point, and she braced herself. But instead of speaking, a strangely subdued Adam led her through his small apartment and pointed to the problem. No doubt about it; actions spoke louder than words.

Jo's mouth fell open.

"This looks bad, right?" His rough voice was mournful.

Her eyes moved from the worn-out, peaceful figure on his bed - a surprise, to be sure; yet when she thought about it, not so surprising after all - to the rumpled sleeping bag and the take-out boxes peeping from the trash.

Jo confronted him squarely. His gaze slipped even lower, studying his bare toes as though they were the most enthralling sight in the whole room.

"Adam. This looks _exactly_ the way it is. You gave up your bed to a homeless man last night, didn't you?"

He flushed; his cheeks stained with a red so dark that she could see it even in the lamplight. "Yes," he muttered.

"An old man who seems to have died in his sleep." She caught Adam's chin and lifted it fondly, looking him straight in the eye as she let her hand drop. "There's no problem here. Okay?"

Adam nodded. "Okay. Then we don't have to tell the others?" he said hopefully.

By which he meant Danny, Jo guessed. "They won't hear it from me."

The relief that Adam felt clearly burst the dam that was holding him back as words began to tumble from his lips with gathering speed. Jo stood and listened, her bright eyes thoughtful. In his hands, he held a hidden object which he turned compulsively. She wondered what it was.

"Thing is, Jo, it was so cold last night and the fog was - well, it was creepy, like a scene from some old horror movie. And Abe, he had nowhere to go. I went outside 'cause I wanted to help him - he was right on my doorstep, you see, and I just _had_ to, somehow. Don't you ever feel like that? But he knew he was dying; he told me over and over again and, _stupid_ me, I wouldn't listen. I thought I knew better. As if one take-out meal and a bed for the night could save his life. I should have seen the signs - _made_ him go to the hospital, right then and there, instead of letting him say no."

"You're blaming yourself?" Jo frowned.

"Who else should I blame?" Adam shook his head and the stream of words dried up. His eyes slid across to the husk of an old man lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Ignoring the question for now, Jo took Adam's arm and steered him away. In doing so, she turned his back on the sight that had silenced him.

"Sit down," she ordered. "I'm making you a hot drink."

"I don't need one..." He landed on the hard seat with a bump, squinting nervously at the stern look on her face. "Jo - are you angry?"

"With you? Well now, maybe a little." Her features softened. "Adam Ross, you did a good deed, and you're acting like a criminal. Next thing I know, you'll be asking me to help you dispose of the body before someone sees it."

"Wait... you mean you won't?"

She froze - until she saw the gleam in his eye; a welcome sight.

"I already called 911," he said at last. "Right before you arrived, as a matter of fact... oh! Don't tell me you really believed..."

Her hands were on her hips by now in a classic matriarchal pose. To this day, it had never worked on Ellie but on Adam it was generally effective. "Tea or coffee?" she insisted, cutting off his protestations with a face that told him just how absurd he was being.

"Tea, please," he told her meekly. He raised his hand and set the hidden object on his dining table. Jo peered at the tiny silver box with interest.

"That looks old."

Adam nodded. "When I woke up, it was sitting right beside me on the floor. That's how I knew..." Instead of finishing, he stroked the box with gentle fingertips. "I think he meant for me to have it."

"As a 'thank you', probably. Which means he was grateful for your kindness. Did you talk much last night?" Jo flipped the switch on Adam's kettle and it rumbled into life. As she pulled two mugs from the rack, he considered her remark.

"Yes and no." When she opened her mouth to demand a better explanation, he continued before she could speak, anticipating her request. "Okay, you're right; that doesn't make sense. We talked, but not about important stuff. Mostly, he just let me rattle on and, of course, I was nervous so I did - a _lot_. It was like he got some kind of thrill out of being mysterious. Either that, or he had something terrible to hide, you know?"

"What if he was simply enjoying a chance to forget? To sit back and remember what it felt like to have a warm home and friends to share it with? Why spoil that by talking about himself?"

"I guess..." Adam lifted the box and turned it in his hands once more, letting it catch the light in a manner that was quite hypnotic. "He said his name was Abraham Nazar - but I'm not sure how true that is."

"Did he mention any family connections?"

"No." With an air of sadness, Adam shook his head. "He was all alone. Don't ask me how I know that, Jo. I just felt it, okay?"

"I believe you." Steam poured from the kettle and she gazed at her friend through the drifting clouds. "So, what's in the box?"

"I never opened it," he confessed. "I guess I got a little... distracted. Plus, there's a seal on the lock right here - looks like wax or something."

Drinks in hand, Jo moved back to the table and sat down beside him. "Then go ahead and break it, Adam," she suggested boldly. "If you dare..."

"Okay... what?"

Jo was pleased to see the effect of her distraction. Curiosity was slowly replacing the expression of stunned dismay that had haunted Adam's face ever since she arrived.

"Why seal a sweet little box like that? Maybe it's _cursed_." She lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper. Adam raised one eyebrow.

"Really? That's what you're going with? Cursed. So, what - if I break the seal and open it, my face'll melt off?"

"Don't be silly. That's not the Ark of the Covenant and you're not Indiana Jones."

"When they opened the Ark, it was Indy who refused to look," Adam told her. "That's why he survived."

Jo grinned. Reaching out, she took the silver casket from his hand and shook it gently. "There's something inside alright. But it sounds to me as though the whole thing is lined." Even she was starting to feel the addictive pull of the mystery by now and she welcomed it gladly. Anything to drag their minds away from the figure on the bed. Jo dealt with death every day, but that didn't mean she would ever get used to its overwhelming presence - and she knew that her friend felt the same way. "Come on, Adam. Aren't you intrigued; just the teensiest bit? Call yourself an investigator!"

"Fine." Recovering the box, he fetched a knife from the kitchen and used it to poke at the brittle wax seal. It wasn't long before the whole thing began to crack, casting little red crumbs all over his table. Beneath the seal was a lock of unexpected simplicity - merely a catch and a bar on a chain. Jo saw that Adam's fingers were shaking as he moved to open it but, wisely, she chose not to comment.

When he finally lifted the lid, she let out a gasp of delight. "Beautiful!"

Adam nodded. There, in a nest of blue velvet, lay the most enchanting ring that Jo had ever seen. It was made of hammered silver, with subtle dents all over the surface that caught the light and made it shiver. Instead of a circle, the ring formed three coils, spinning outwards from a pale white stone that shone like a star.

"He _can't_ have meant for me to have this..." Adam's eyes were wide.

"Why ever not?" Jo felt oddly defensive on his behalf.

"It's just... too much, okay?"

"You know," she told him softly, "this would make the most _amazing _Christmas gift for Michelle."

And now, of course, she had him. Adam faltered. "Yes," he breathed, "it would..." Then he blinked, as though he had just remembered something. "Wait," he said, scanning the floor with an air of distraction. "There was a note... oh!" He leapt from his seat and pounced on the sleeping bag that lay in a tangled heap nearby. When he returned to the table, he was clutching a scrap of paper in his fist. Letting his gaze slip back to the ring, he thrust the note in Jo's direction. She took it from him eagerly.

"Not the neatest penmanship," she said as she peered through the dim light and tried to follow the trail of Abraham's scrawl. "'Be...' I think that's the first word. 'Be careful...'?"

Adam wrenched his eyes away from the silver box and leaned across. "'...what you...'" he deciphered.

"'... wish for'!" they chorused together at last - and then paused in utter confusion.

"'Be careful what you wish for'?" Jo repeated slowly. "What on earth does _that_ mean?"

"One of two things," Adam sighed, with a quizzical look on his face. He turned and stared back through the gloom at the silent, secretive body of Abraham Nazar. "Number one. There's more to this ring than meets the eye, my Preciousss..." He winced at his own bad joke and held up his hand in denial. "I know, I know, okay? Don't worry, Jo; I'm not _that_ crazy. So then, number two... I think Old Abe must have lived in a _very_ different world to the rest of us. One that he took with him when he died."

_That's a kind way to put it,_ Jo thought.

Sitting snugly in its blue velvet nest, the silver ring winked at her.

-x0x-

**A/N: Thank you for the lovely response to chapter one! I hope you enjoyed the update. More next week!**


	3. Chapter 3

**BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR**

**Chapter Three**

They carried Old Abe out of the apartment in a body bag. Adam watched in silence; his mood turning in on itself until it was darker than the shadows all around him. As he shut the door, he glanced back at Jo, whose face wore a look of sympathy that suddenly he could not bear to see.

"I didn't really know him, okay?" he insisted. "I'm fine."

"Of course you are."

"Don't make fun of me, Jo." Adam's tone was petulant but he couldn't help himself. Why on earth did he feel so unsettled? Guilt crept over him but Jo merely crossed her arms and continued to stare.

"I'm not. You're a strong person, Adam; stronger than you give yourself credit for. Don't be ashamed to show your feelings."

"Are you kidding me? I show them all the time - that's the problem."

"Not the ones that matter." Her voice grew gentle. "I for one could cope with seeing a little more 'Adam' now and then. The _real_ Adam. He's a lovely man."

"Oh..." Blushing, Adam fell back into silence, leaving Jo to commandeer both sides of the conversation, much to his relief.

"Would you like me to stay? No, I guess not - you probably need some alone time right now, to get your head around what happened, right? But honey, if you need me, I can stay."

He shook his head awkwardly. "Thank you," he managed. Jo's answering nod was weary and he saw how much this call on her friendship had actually cost her.

"Any time. You know that. I'm so glad you asked me to come." Maybe she was lying to protect his feelings, but the warmth in her smile made him doubt that.

"Okay..." he murmured. His own smile was a poor reflection but it seemed to do the trick. Like a strong breeze, she gathered herself and blew out of the apartment, leaving an empty kind of stillness in her wake.

For a while, Adam simply stood there, unable to think or to move. Time held its breath and waited for him.

It was a crashing sound next door that woke him from his stupor - Gerry, his giant neighbour, falling out of bed again, no doubt. The man was impossibly loud but, for once, Adam felt a sense of gratitude. He stretched his aching body and moved from the spot that had claimed him for far too long. "Life goes on," he muttered firmly.

Turning, he rescued his sleeping bag from the floor - but somehow he could not bring himself to look at the empty bed beyond it. A blind spot in his vision, it evaded him. He moved around his tiny home like a man possessed; straightening furniture, washing the dishes, collecting the trash - all the while unable to cope with the thought of the blank space beneath the window.

"Later," he promised himself; so much meaning hidden in a single word.

The blind spot mocked him; dragging at his spirit like a ball and chain until he could stand it no longer. Throwing on yesterday's clothes, he grabbed his coat and scarf. As he passed the table, he snatched up the little silver box as well and shoved it in his pocket. Then he fled the apartment altogether and headed for the sanctuary of work.

-x0x-

The crime lab was blissfully quiet. Leaning on the panoramic window, Adam let his mind drift with the tattered strands of fog that still moved through the city streets below him.

"Coffee," said a voice behind him. "Strong and black. Looks like you need it."

He spun round in shock. Lately, he had begun to imagine that he had finally mastered the complex skill of anticipating Mac - but today the boss-man had caught him off-guard once again, as he held out a steaming mug and waited for Adam to take it.

Did he know about Old Abe? Had Jo told him?

_No,_ Adam thought. _She promised._ Which meant that Mac was just being kind.

So why was he staring...?

Oh - right. _Manners, Adam._

"Thanks, boss. Thanks a lot. Um - you're early?" A nervous, upward lilt made it more of a question than a statement.

"Crime doesn't stop for Christmas." Mac gave an unexpected smile and Adam giggled dutifully, sensing that this was a joke.

"Oh, sure. But it's only a month since you... erm, you know, got married and I thought... well..." What _was_ he thinking, exactly? Nothing that he could explain out loud. Not to the boss-man, anyway. "Um, never mind. Early, huh?" he finished lamely. "Me too."

"So I see."

"I had... tests to run. Important tests. Which I'd better get back to. Thanks for the coffee!" He tossed the words over his shoulder as he hurried away down the corridor, fleeing the scene of his latest verbal mishap. He could feel Mac watching him and, in his mind's eye, he could still see that smile of wry amusement. A happy smile. The man was happy.

Skidding to a halt as soon as he was out of sight, Adam paused to take a sip of his coffee and ponder the fact that had just blown his mind.

Ever since the shooting in the pharmacy that had almost stolen Mac's life, there had been something... well, not quite right with Adam's hero. A hidden thorn that tore at him, letting the pain bleed into every unguarded expression. Adam could not always understand the shadow-play of thoughts and emotions on other people's faces - but he knew fear and self-doubt when he saw them, and he pitied his boss, though he never would have dared to say it out loud.

And then, suddenly, out of the blue, the thorn was gone. And Christine walked beside her partner, radiant with joy and wearing a ring that sang a wordless song of dreams come true. As for the boss-man, one look at his bright eyes was enough. After so many long years of loneliness, Mac Taylor was complete again.

_I want that too,_ Adam realised, peering around the corner. Mac had stepped back into his office by now and was working quietly at his desk. The peaceful sight was a balm to Adam's troubled soul. He wanted the same completeness for himself - and by some miracle, it was within his grasp if he was brave enough to reach for it.

Slipping into the empty break room, he left his mug on a nearby table and pulled the little silver box from his pocket. He was almost afraid to lift the lid. The spell that the ring had cast in the half-light of his apartment was probably just the result of his jumbled and fragile emotions. Here in the 'real' world - the bright and unforgiving light of the New York crime lab - he was bound to see the gift for what it was. A well-made trinket. A pretty antique; nothing more. Good enough for the purpose he had in mind, but still a disappointment, somehow.

Adam bit his lip and scanned the room again. If Danny or Sheldon... no, if _anyone_ saw him with a ring... Well, of course they would jump to the wrong conclusion.

_Or maybe the right one, _he thought, with a shiver. This moment - _this_ decision. This was the one that would change his world for ever...

He loosened the catch.

"Whatcha got there, buddy?"

_No!_

Adam fumbled and dropped the box. It fell to the floor with an ugly _crack_, and the lid came away from the base as the ring flew out in a slow arc and rolled away merrily, winding through a maze of table legs and changing direction on a whim. Adam scrambled after it, leaving Danny Messer standing in the doorway with a penitent look on his face.

"Don't just... stand there... help me..." Adam panted as he tried to catch up with the ring.

"Oh! Yes. Sorry, man; I didn't mean to startle you." Aiming for a kind of pincer movement, Danny scurried in the opposite direction.

"Yeah, well; you did, okay? Ow!" Adam sat down heavily and rubbed his head. "These tables are tougher than they look."

"Got it!" His friend popped up by the kitchen counter, holding the ring aloft. "Hey - this thing's pretty cool. And... it's a ring. Adam, why do you have a ring?"

"I wear rings all the time," Adam told him archly, rising to his feet and holding out his right hand, palm upwards. His left hand waggled in the air. "See?"

"Yeah, I know; rings and bracelets. Very manly." Danny grinned, to show that his jibe was not in earnest. "But this one's different, right? It_ looks _different."

"It was a gift."

"From Michelle?"

"From... a friend."

"Then it's not...?"

"Danny, mind your own business. _Please?_" Adam begged in desperation. He needed to think; just _think..._

"Okay." Danny dropped the ring into his waiting palm and Adam felt a jolt of relief. It was heavier than he expected, and warm from the heat of the other man's hand. "Look, I'm sorry I poked my nose in. Guess it's no concern of mine what you've got in your pocket..." Adam shook his head as Danny grinned again.

"Lame, Messer. Very lame."

"What about the box?" Crouching down, Danny picked up the two pieces. "Think you can fix it? I bet you can fix it." He sounded so desperately hopeful that Adam relented.

"Hey, you know me - I got skills."

"Good. That's good. Oh wait, don't forget this." He bent down again and snagged a little piece of paper. Adam frowned in confusion. Had he pocketed Abe's note as well, unintentionally? But no; this scrap was older, _much_ older, and covered with faint inky markings. "Your writing's getting worse," Danny joked. "What is that? Shorthand?"

"Um, yeah..." Adam curled his fingers around the paper and the ring. His other hand cradled the pieces of the broken box.

"I really am sorry, you know," Danny told him quietly.

"I know."

He was turning to leave when his friend grabbed his arm.

"Dammit, I nearly forgot what I came to ask you in the first place... are you still on for tonight? Only, I promised Lindsay you'd be there. She's counting on it, and she's got that wild look in her eye that says it's my neck on the line if it all goes south this time. You haven't forgotten, right?"

"No," Adam sighed. "I haven't forgotten. I'll be there, Danny."

For the second time that morning, he felt an itch in his shoulder blades that meant someone was watching him curiously as he walked away from them.

-x0x-

Opening his locker door, Adam set the two broken halves of the silver box on the top shelf. As he did so, he noticed something odd about the velvet lining in the base.

It was loose.

With a careful finger and thumb, he tested the dog-eared corner, pulling it back on itself as far as it would go. To his surprise, the whole piece of cloth came away in his hand, revealing a secret compartment that had clearly been jarred open when the box hit the break room floor. Inside were two more mysterious scraps of paper.

"Probably just proof of purchase or something," Adam muttered but, deep in his chest, he felt a flutter of excitement. What had Abe left him, exactly? How _old_ was this ring?

The locker room was filling all around him, as more and more people arrived at work. This was neither the time nor the place for exploring his own little mystery. He placed the first scrap in with its companions, smoothing the velvet back down as though it had never been disturbed. Then he looked at the ring which was still in his hand.

"You really _are_ beautiful," he whispered, full of delight. His first response had not been a false impression after all. Even here, in the functional glow from the strip light overhead, Adam saw that Abe's gift was something truly magical.

Michelle was going to _love_ it.

"And me too, I hope." Adam chewed his bottom lip as he tried to picture the moment. _Christmas Eve, _he thought. That would be the perfect time. Pick her up from the bus station. Wine her and dine her to welcome her back. Then, when the candlelight was flickering in pools of wax... bring out the ring.

_Oh God._ He swallowed. _Am I really going to do this...?_

"Hey, Ross. There you are."

The jovial voice of Don Flack almost made him drop the ring yet again. Just in time, he closed his fist around it and slammed the locker door, revealing the detective's face, far closer than he expected.

"Oh - hey. Um... how long have you been standing there?"

"Not long. I recognised your sneakers. Mac said you were here already. I've been lookin' everywhere..."

"Sorry." Adam shoved the ring into the left pocket of his jeans, where it ought to be safe. Out of sight, out of mind. After all, he was at work and it was time to concentrate. Romance - he gulped - oh yes, romance could wait. "What can I do for you, Detective Flack?"

"You can come with me," Flack said. There was a wicked gleam in his blue eyes that made Adam feel very nervous. "I've got a case downtown, and Mac thinks you'll be the _perfect_ man for the job."

-x0x-

**A/N: Thank you for your oh-so-lovely comments about the story so far. I'm delighted that you're enjoying it. More soon!**


	4. Chapter 4

**BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR**

**Chapter Four**

Never one to sit patiently in a queue when there was a more energetic alternative, Don Flack swerved through the rush-hour traffic, making excellent progress and feeling very smug about it. In his rear view mirror, he could still see the Avalanche and its driver, close behind him all the way like a gun dog at his heels. "Nice goin', Ross," he whistled. Adam's shoulders were hunched and his face was rigid with determination as he shadowed the detective's every move. Turning slightly in his seat, Flack lifted one hand from the steering wheel and offered him a merry wave. Adam muttered something in response but kept his own hands exactly where they were. Flack guessed that they were as good as welded in the 'nine and three' position right about now. For a quirky man, Adam was also, oddly, something of a stickler for the rules.

The riot at the precinct. That was when Flack had truly begun to question his assumptions about the comical-lab-tech-turned-CSI. Even now, almost a year later, he could still remember the disbelief - no, the _shock_ - of seeing Adam Ross walk through the front door, having passed unscathed, by his own volition, through the angry hordes. For several weeks after, Flack's jaw had literally dropped whenever he thought about it. Twitchy or not, the guy had stones. And now he had the out-and-out respect of Detective Don Flack.

Which did not mean, of course, that a little bit of friendly teasing was off the table. Adam was just too easy. Taking advantage of him was an obligation, really. At least, that was how Danny always seemed to justify his humorous dealings with his hapless colleague.

And clearly, Mac himself was not above a sneaky move or two. Take this morning's crime scene. Don gave a wide grin of anticipation at the thought of Adam's face in about (he checked his watch) fifteen minutes, give or take a handy parking space.

-x0x-

Being inside the lobby of High Wire Inc. ("We're Out There") made Adam feel as though he were standing at the centre of an optical illusion. High above his head, a spiral balcony rose ever upwards, shrinking in upon itself with each new twist and turn until it spun right out of sight through a bright point of light that could almost be Heaven itself, it seemed so far away. Adam's head was spinning too by now and he dropped his gaze quickly, choosing instead to focus on the giant Christmas tree nearby. Some logistical elf must have snapped his fingers to make it appear, because there was no real way that it could ever have come through the same revolving door that had just sent Adam and Flack stumbling into the building. Dancing clockwork snowflakes hung from every bough and a golden angel waved a benevolent hand from the pinnacle, three storeys up. About their feet, a miniature army of toys marched back and forth on the polished floor, their movements preordained by their circuits and the clever minds of the overgrown children by whom - and for whom - they had been created.

"I like this place," Adam muttered, nudging a little red soldier aside with the toe of his sneaker. "Kind of feels like the inside of my head sometimes, you know?"

"Hold that thought," Flack told him with the same annoying smile that he had worn in the locker room back at the crime lab.

"Police?" said a clear voice. A sharp pair of heels stabbed their way across the lobby, bearing their owner with pride - an impressive-looking woman in a pale blue suit. Her angular glasses were equally sharp, which gave the impression of a narrowed pair of eyes and an icy glare. Adam fell back slightly. Flack was unperturbed.

"Mrs Everard." His confidence was enviable. "Thanks for meeting us."

"Anything to get this... _unfortunate_ business over with as soon as possible."

How was it, Adam wondered, that some people felt no shame in reducing death to the level of an inconvenience?

"Did you know the victim well?" he asked pointedly.

"Not really." The Ice Queen shrugged her padded shoulders. "These young men - the engineers and scientists that work here - they all look alike to me." She fixed him with her disconcerting stare. _Like you,_ it seemed to say. "'I use 'work' in the loosest sense of the word, you understand me?" she continued. One long heel swept back and a tiny mechanical reindeer went flying through the air. "Daydreams and foolishness."

Indignation on behalf of his kind bubbled up inside Adam but he held his tongue, trusting that Flack would take the lead. Withering scorn or a blistering comment - the man was a master of both.

As it turned out, Flack was also pretty good at using silence as a weapon. Ignoring Mrs Everard's opinion altogether, he folded his arms across his chest and waited. Her narrow eyes contracted even further and a deep line appeared between her eyebrows.

"Follow me," she said at last, smoothing over her defeat with the coldest of smiles.

They kept pace with her brisk strides all the way to the glass-fronted elevator that had just dropped down to the lobby from the dizzying heights above.

"In there?" Adam's voice was wary.

"We have stairs - but the seventeenth floor is a long way up. I'm sorry; do you have some kind of phobia?" the Ice Queen challenged him.

"Um - no." And he didn't; not really, but something about this place - no, this whole _day_ - was starting to make him feel quite strange. _I'm tired,_ he said to himself. _That's all. _

Shifting the weight of his kit, which was cutting his palm in half by now, he shoved his free hand into his pocket. The glass doors closed in front of him, almost chopping off his nose. Adam swallowed and stared at his feet as he tried to concentrate on something a little more cheerful.

Michelle. Even when she wasn't there, the image of her warm face could fill him with such delight...

Adam's fingers found the ring and clenched around it tightly.

Would she accept his proposal? Could he picture his life without her, now that she was such a vital part of it? The risk was enormous - but the stubborn side of Adam knew that he was going to take the chance. What kind of coward would he be if he couldn't even bring himself to ask her? "Mrs Ross," he murmured, ever so quietly, out of Flack's ear-shot - or so he thought.

"Say what?" The detective turned to stare at him.

Adam jumped... and the ring fell out of his hand, twisting right there in his pocket until somehow - by chance or ill-natured design - it found its way onto his finger.

And there it stuck fast.

"You okay?" Flack persisted. He frowned. "You're not gonna be sick, are you?"

Mrs Everard let out a snort of disgust at the very suggestion.

"No! of course not," Adam gasped, feeling so far beyond 'strange' by now that he was almost floating. "Look, we're here!" The elevator shuddered to a halt and the doors re-opened. He leapt out and feigned politeness, waiting for Flack and the Ice Queen to pass him by. Then he tagged along at their heels, pulling hard at the ring until his little finger ached and beads of sweat began to pop out all over his brow.

_Impossible, _he thought. If the ring slipped on then, by rights, it should slip off just as easily. How could it be stuck? He tugged even harder, grunting with the strain.

Flack threw him a curious look and then ducked beneath the black-and-yellow tape that marked the entrance to their crime scene. Holding the centre of the tape at shoulder height, he waited for Adam to follow. The smile was back upon his face but Adam was far too flustered to wonder why.

He ducked... and straightened... and paused in dismay. "Oh, you've _got_ to be kidding me!" he groaned.

"_There_ it is," Flack muttered.

The room was a large white lab, its edges well-ordered and lined with steel benches full of expensive equipment. There, however, all perfection ended. In the centre was a broken body, stained with blood and, spiralling outwards around it, what could only be described as an explosion of shattered technology; circuit boards and wires, pipes and switches... This was going to be the rest of Adam's day; no doubt about it.

"What happened?" he said to the officer who had been first on the scene, and who hovered nearby.

"Ask these clowns," the officer sighed, pointing to a sullen-looking pair lurking in the corner. "According to them, the whole thing was self-defence. Miles - that's the victim, Miles Cantrell - he went kinda crazy."

"Destroyed our whole project," one of the young men put in. His tone was belligerent and his dark eyes burned with anger. "_That's_ a whole year's work down the can."

"Finn," the other man warned him, laying a bruised hand on his arm. "He's lying right there, okay? Show some respect."

His friend shrugged off the warning hand and fell into a brooding silence.

As Flack stepped over to question them further and the Ice Queen vanished as smoothly as she had appeared, Adam set down his kit and approached the edge of the technological 'blast zone'. "What about the victim?" he asked. Two dead bodies in one day - fantastic. At least Old Abe had looked peaceful in death. Poor Miles Cantrell had a look of terror on his face that spoke of a violent end.

"Best clear a path, quick smart. The ME's on his way."

Very helpful. Adam shook his head and crouched down, snapping on his gloves and trying to ignore the ring that was still lodged firmly on his finger. A bar of soap should solve that little problem later. Right now, he needed to work. The challenge was huge - but it was also quite appealing. Joke or not, his boss knew that Adam could do this all by himself, and that was a mark of respect which made him feel warm inside. He smiled as he picked up the first piece of debris, turning the circuit board round in his hands in order to study it.

Curious.

Setting it down again carefully, he selected a strip of wire instead and examined that too, followed by a second circuit board. Then he gazed out across the whole scene, deep in thought. Moments later, he shook his head. "Um - Flack?" he ventured.

The detective paused mid-sentence. "Now?"

"Yes, now." When he wanted to, Adam knew how to be firm. Flack caught his tone and hurried over.

"What's the matter?"

"This whole crime scene - something's wrong."

Flack crouched down beside him and continued in a whisper.

"What do you mean?"

Picking up the nearest piece of debris, Adam showed it to his colleague. "See this? It's pristine, okay? Like it's never been used. So's this wire - and this pipe here. Now, take a look at the whole set-up. Doesn't it seem - well, _staged_ to you?"

"So - what?" Flack's face was eager as he worked through the logic of Adam's discovery. "These are all just spare parts? Scattered after the fact?"

Adam nodded. "What's the betting their precious invention is hidden safely in a cupboard somewhere?"

Flack rose to his feet and turned to glare at the two men behind him. "Is he right?"

Finn looked shifty. His friend, meanwhile, had seen which way the wind was blowing. Darting sideways, he broke through the tape and disappeared. With a jolt of understanding, Finn picked up his heels and sped after him.

"Hey!" Flack yelled. Both he and the officer took off in pursuit.

_Should I follow them?_ Adam wondered. Curiosity won the day and he hurried to the doorway, peering out into the open corridor, with its staggering view of the lobby far below.

Heading one way, the officer chased Finn round the balcony. A reckless dive brought his prey to the floor, out of sight and hopefully under control.

Flack was not so lucky.

Racing in the opposite direction, his long legs soon closed the gap - but just as he reached out to grab the fleeing scientist, the young man stopped dead in his tracks and _pushed_ - sending Flack spinning over the rail. Then he fled.

Adam gave a wordless cry of fright.

Fighting with the tape, he darted from the room. "Please," he begged, finding his voice. "Please hold on!" He could see Flack's bone-white fingers clutching the rail, and slipping... slipping... Just in time, he reached the spot and grabbed at the man with his own shaking hands. Glove circled wrist, and he held on for dear life, pulled over by Flack's weight until his own feet rose from the floor. He tried not to look at the distant lobby, or the tiny dot that was the angel on the Christmas tree. Instead, he focussed on Flack's face. Never before had he seen such horror in a person's eyes. Flack knew. He knew he was going to die. Adam's strength, such as it was, could never hold him.

"Please don't... give up!" Adam wished that he had thought to remove his gloves. The latex mashed against his sweaty palms and he could feel Flack sliding from his grip, inch by terrifying inch.

"Not your fault," the detective gasped.

"Yes, it is!" The words were wrenched from his throat as he pulled even harder. "Oh, God... I can't... I wish... I could!"

And that was when it happened.

Pain - the sharpest pain that he had ever felt - sliced through his finger and he screamed. As it died away, a stinging heat spread out across his whole hand, up his arm and through his body. Adam closed his eyes and fought against it, refusing to let his grip loosen - yet, all of a sudden, both hands were empty. His eyes flew open. "Flack!" he screamed; _far_ too afraid to look over the rail and watch the tumbling body of the man whose life he had failed to save...

"I'm here," said a weary voice.

Ice-water ran down his spine. Adam froze.

"Wh-what?"

"I'm here, Ross. Dammit, you're stronger than you look!"

Out of nowhere, there were people all around them; hands reaching out, voices offering sympathy - and congratulations. Adam's head spun. Dazed and shaking, he stared at Flack in bewilderment. The detective sat back against the balcony, breathing hard. "Thank you," he murmured faintly. "God... _thank_ you."

"Oh," Adam said in a whisper. "Okay..."

What on _earth_ had just happened?

-x0x-

**A/N: An early update, as requested! Merry Christmas! More soon...**


	5. Chapter 5

**BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR**

**Chapter Five**

It was The Dream. His favourite one; the Sunday morning daydream. Adam the Superhero, swooping down out of the blue to save his friends from deadly peril. Somehow - and he knew that he wasn't asleep because he had pinched himself at least a hundred times by now - _somehow_ it had finally come true.

So why did he feel like such a fraud?

"Hey, look - you're on Twitter already," Sheldon Hawkes grinned, popping up beside Adam and waving his cell phone. "You've even got a hash-tag of your own. 'Reallifehero'... Can I have your autograph, Mr Hero?" The teasing was merry; a way to deflect the horror of what might have been. No one wanted to think about _that._

"Funny man." Adam gave a wonky smile in return and moved his gloved hand out of Hawkes' line of sight. The ring would not come off, no matter how thickly he lathered his finger in soap. Even though it was covered right now, he was hyper-aware of it all the time, partly due to the constant throbbing of its tight embrace. _Thanks a lot, Abe,_ he grumbled silently.

Yet _without_ the ring...

Adam's mind rebelled against that thought, as it had been doing for the last four hours.

One frantic call from the uniformed officer had brought Mac Taylor speeding to the scene with Hawkes in tow. The doctor had tried to send both Flack and Adam home, with predictable consequences.

"Mac, I'm fine." Flack's voice had been shaky and his claim a little too eager - yet Adam had lurked behind him in the comfort of his shadow, knowing he would keep it up until he won, and keen to share in his success.

"_I'm _the doctor," Hawkes had told them both, but there had been a subtle look of understanding in Mac's eyes that prompted Adam to make a heartfelt request of his own.

"I want to work. Please?"

In the end, it was that easy. Mac was so relieved and so proud that Adam could have asked him for the moon and he would have hooked it down from the heavens at once. Or granted him a raise. Or a desk of his own, at last...

_But you don't deserve it._

A magic ring. A _magic_ ring! How could that be? And yet he had felt it for himself; the power boiling through his body. And he knew beyond all doubt that his own puny strength could never have hauled Flack over the rail like that.

Returning to the crime scene, Adam had thrown himself into his work with a fine (and false) display of concentration. As he bagged and labelled piece after scattered piece of evidence, he tried - and failed - to bring his errant thoughts under control. Quietly moving to help him, Hawkes had chosen to start on the opposite side of the room, working inward just like Adam. Their destination was the blood-stained void in the middle. Cantrell's body had been removed. Finn was making his way to the station, mute and scowling, in the back of a cop car. Meanwhile, Detective Flack had enlisted Mac's help in a sweep of the building, intent upon finding the perp who had literally sent him over the edge...

"Adam! Are you with me? You've been staring into space for at least five minutes. I thought we were talking - remember?" The doc's persistent voice broke through his reverie and brought him bang up to date with a jolt.

Adam sat back on his heels. Like Hawkes - and also because of the good-natured doctor - he had come to the end of his epic task. His stomach was grumbling loudly by now and his body felt as though it had been stretched upon a rack. Which it _had_, more or less, he realised. Don Flack was bigger than him, and the strain of his rescue was still burning through Adam's muscles.

Or was that the ring?

"Adam," Hawkes said again, with some concern.

He blinked and focussed on his friend. "Long day," he apologised.

"It's only half past twelve."

"Exactly." Adam nodded wisely as though he had just proved his point.

With a shake of his own head, Hawkes changed the subject. "Let's get packed up," he suggested. "I'll buy you lunch."

"Oh, no need." This time, Adam's smile was far more convincing. "Flack's taking care of it. Steak's on the menu - want to join us?"

-x0x-

Food was unusually far from Don's mind at the moment as he stood ten floors above them, staring at the balcony with an air of defiance. Fear of heights - that was something new to him and he didn't like it; not one bit. Nor was he going to accept it.

His gratitude to Adam knew no bounds. The man had reached down into his nightmare and pulled him free of it. He still recalled the look of pain on Adam's face, and that scream; a sound of terror and defiance so like his own that, for one dreadful, dizzying moment, he had truly believed that the cry had been torn from his own lips. After that, he must have blacked out because he had no recollection of sliding back over the rail, or landing on the floor. All he knew was that Adam had saved his life. He had tapped some hidden reserve and called upon a strength that nobody - least of all Don - expected him to have.

_And how can I ever repay him?_

"Best cut on the menu, medium rare, with fries on the side and all the trimmings," Don muttered, grinning slowly as his appetite returned at last, thankful that its host wasn't dead and keen to celebrate this happy fact as soon as possible.

"Good," Mac told him, claiming his attention.

"'Good' what?"

"'Good', you're looking better."

"How was I looking before?" Don asked warily.

"Sick, mostly," Mac said. His head tilted sideways and he held up his hand for silence. "You're sure these floors were cleared?" he whispered.

Don nodded. Shocked by the turn that events had taken, Mrs Everard had seen to that herself. Downstairs, the lobby was packed tight with unsettled, gossiping workers. Upstairs, the two men were searching, room by room. Security footage confirmed that the suspect hadn't left the building. Which meant he had to be _somewhere_.

"Listen..."

The nearest door was closed and bore a sign that read 'Cleaning Supplies'. Inside, something was moving about. As they tiptoed closer, the two men heard a muffled thump and a squeak of dismay.

"Rat?" Mac whispered.

"_Big _rat," Don's eyes were gleaming. Time for a little pest control. He tugged on the handle. "One... two..._ three_..."

-x0x-

"... And out fell our guy in a tangle of mops and buckets." Flack licked his fork clean and set it down neatly beside his knife on the empty plate, with a look of complete satisfaction. "He'd been in there for hours; just him and his sweaty little conscience. Five minutes with us and he confessed to everything - the murder and the cover-up. Dropped his partner in it too. Turns out Miles Cantrell overheard them planning a moonlight flit with the team's invention; the 'next big thing' in the field of robotics. I gotta admit, I kinda stopped listening at that point." His look became sheepish.

Adam poked at his steak. It was difficult, trying to hide the silver ring on his swollen finger from three sets of eagle eyes. When the waiter led them to the booth, he had taken the corner seat and tucked himself into the shadows, using only one hand whenever possible, and angling himself away from Mac's gaze in particular; all the while maintaining an innocent face - or as innocent as he could muster. "So, did you charge him for pushing you over... I mean, for trying to...? Um..." There was no way to say it that didn't bring back the horrible rush of fear. Why on earth had he tried to raise the subject?

"Attempted murder of a cop, you mean?" The humour in Flack's tone froze solid and his warm eyes turned to chips of ice. "I charged him - right after Mac introduced him to the view from the balcony. What?" he added, catching sight of Hawkes' shocked expression. "We didn't dangle him upside down by his heels, if that's what you're thinking. We could have - but we didn't."

"Letting go would have been far too tempting." Mac's delivery was deadpan. Flack paused - and all four men burst out laughing; a welcome release from the sudden tension.

"Hope they had a clean pair of tighty-whiteys for him at the lock-up," Adam snorted. The others turned to stare at him, and he dropped his hand into his lap. Mac frowned, but said nothing.

"Hey - you're not eating," Flack said with something akin to astonishment.

"Not hungry?" Hawkes added.

In point of fact, he was starving but the steak was just too thick to cut one-handed. _What if I told them about the ring?_ he wondered nervously. How would that go? He ran through the conversation in his head.

_So, hey - I guess you're all dying to know how a guy like me was strong enough to pull Detective Flack to safety? Well, see, it wasn't me. I mean... okay, I did it, sure - but I had a little help from this tiny silver ring that's stuck to my finger. It's a wishing ring. I wished, and it came true. Guys? Hey, guys? Don't look at me like that..._

Oh yes, that was it; no question. Followed by a quick trip to the nearest psych ward, where they'd lock him up and throw away the key.

_You're a scientist, Adam, _he scolded himself in a sly imitation of his boss's voice. _Don't jump to conclusions. Follow the evidence..._

Maybe it wasn't a wishing ring after all. Maybe, just maybe, he would find a simple explanation if he looked hard enough.

More than anything, he longed to get the ridiculous thing off his finger.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm all done. Thanks anyway, Flack, for the thought. This was fun, okay?"

Time to get back to the crime lab - and those little scraps of paper in his locker.

-x0x-

From the moment he entered the building, Adam was besieged by hordes of people that he barely knew, who tried to shake his hand or pat him on the back, or simply touch him as though he were some kind of human lucky charm. _News travels fast,_ he thought wildly, as he hopped into the elevator, followed by Hawkes and his boss, since Flack had left them by now and returned to the precinct. No doubt the fuss and attention was kindly meant, but it frightened him with its intensity. So many faces, all focussed on him. He shrank back against the wall as an oddly protective Hawkes held the crowd at bay until the doors slid shut.

"Better?" Mac queried.

"Better," he breathed.

"I thought you liked to be the centre of attention." Hawkes gave him a friendly nudge.

"Not so much." Adam's voice was fervent. "That's just kidding around. I like making my friends laugh, okay? _Big_ difference. Um... boss?" He turned to Mac.

"Yes, Adam?"

"Look, when we get up to the lab... I could do with a few minutes. You know, some peace and quiet?" Wide-eyed, he willed his boss to understand. "I promise I'll work twice as hard when I'm done."

"No need. You've earned it." Mac's expression hinted that he understood far more than Adam had ever intended. "Take as long as you need." The doors rolled open and he stepped out, turning to face his wary colleague. Already, people were stopping to stare at them. "Which way?"

"Locker room," Adam breathed.

"Okay." Mac shared a meaningful glance with Hawkes and the two men began to hold a very loud and very public discussion about the morning's events, drawing all eyes away from Adam, who ducked down the stairs and scooted out of sight.

The locker room was empty. "Thank God," Adam sighed, dropping onto the bench. He tugged at the ring in the vain hope that this time it would slip right off his finger.

No such luck. Even worse, each time he tried, the effort was increasingly painful.

"Maybe I'll just wish it off," he grumbled. And yet, as he opened his mouth to test his theory, something stopped him - a realisation.

If this was a wishing ring - truly a wishing ring - then how many wishes did he have? And if they were limited, what should he wish for, exactly?

Possibilities flooded his mind like a tide so strong that it threatened to tear him apart altogether. He clutched at his head with his hands. "Too much," he murmured. "Need facts." Seeking distraction, he staggered to his feet and fumbled with his locker. The broken box sat inside on the top shelf, as he had left it, winking at him in the light like a smug silver toad. All attraction had gone. Now he hated it. "Give me those," he said, lifting up the velvet flap and snatching the three bits of paper; his only hope.

With greedy eyes, he stared at them, begging for an answer. All that he found were more questions. Most of the markings seemed to be in a foreign script; some kind of Arabic, maybe, with random Chinese symbols thrown into the mix. Adam was a clever man, but languages had always been his weakness. It would take hours of research, maybe days, to unravel this mess.

Until suddenly, there on the back of the third scrap, he noticed them.

Hard to decipher; the words so faint, and scratchy that he could barely make them out - but definitely English!

Adam's heart leapt.

He sat back down on the bench and held the blessed piece of paper up to his eyes, squinting sharply.

_'Wish three times to bring release.'_ That was the first sentence. "Hope," Adam whispered. The ring would come off, then.

Next was a riddle. _The past is immutable._ What did that mean? Adam pulled out his cell phone and Googled the strange word. 'Immutable - unchanging over time or unable to be changed.' He stored the phrase away to puzzle out later, and turned to the last sentence.

_Only through touch can it pass._

"I was touching Flack," he nodded to himself. This clue, at least, was easy to understand. No point wishing for world peace, then. The magic was personal, deeply so.

Footsteps sounded outside in the corridor. Adam slipped the three bits of paper into his pocket and turned his face to the door, feeling strangely calm. The ring _was _a wishing ring. It would come off. It had saved Flack's life on the balcony, thanks to his own lucky cry.

And now he had two wishes left.


	6. Chapter 6

**BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR**

**Chapter Six**

A group of chattering lab techs burst through the door, intent upon their lively conversation. Adam made his escape in a hurry, slipping past them like a shadow before they lifted their heads from the huddle and realised that right there in the locker room was the focal point of all their gossip.

The rest of the day was a blur. Thankfully, Adam's task was not a complex one and he managed to bluff his way through it without any ill-effect, searching for non-existent blood spatter and careless fingerprints on piece after random piece of staged evidence. For the first few hours at least, he could feel the familiar itch of eyes upon him but such was the nature of the crime lab that the feeling slowly disappeared as everyone's attention was drawn back into their own work. By the end of the afternoon, his heroics were all but forgotten; a fleeting buzz of excitement that was unlikely to last the day. At five o'clock precisely, he let out a long sigh of relief, packed up the last piece of evidence, tidied his station with habitual care and went in search of Danny.

He found both Messers down in the evidence garage, working on the mangled remains of an ill-advised and fatal joyride through the fog-bound streets of Manhattan. "Um, guys?" he ventured. Two heads lifted in tandem, from opposite sides of the car. "Are you coming? It's just that, you know, you said..."

"Five o' clock," Lindsay groaned. Glancing behind her at the functional clock on the wall, she turned an accusing glare on her husband. "You promised to keep an eye on the time."

Danny's laugh was low and suitably apologetic. "Hey - that clock has a mind of its own. Five minutes ago, it was half past four, I swear..."

"Tell that to Miss MacIver." Lindsay shook her head as she rose to her feet and stretched her aching limbs, curving like a cat. "Adam, thank you. We'll meet you upstairs in ten, okay?"

Considering the filthy state of his friends, Adam found that highly doubtful, but he nodded obediently. Ten minutes later, clutching his coat and his bag, he headed through the lab to the elevator only to find that the Messers were already waiting for him. Danny winked.

"Shopping, Adam. Nothing gets in the way of a woman who wants to go shopping."

"Especially when there are less than four days till Christmas and the woman's husband hasn't bought a single gift..." Lindsay chimed in.

"Hey - I've been busy, okay? So have you. Don't tell me _you're_ all ready for Santa's little visit. I saw the list you were writing last night..."

Adam cleared his throat. "Seriously, guys? A domestic? Now?"

"Nah - just venting," Danny chuckled. "An important part of any healthy relationship. Just you wait till you and... _Anyhow,_" he continued, changing the subject as soon as he spotted the warning look on Adam's face. "What I meant to say was, thanks for this. Lucy's really looking forward to it. She loves you, buddy. Can't imagine why..."

"Flattery'll get you nowhere," Adam retorted as the doors opened and the three of them struggled to board a claustrophobic metal box already packed with people heading for home - or, like Danny and Lindsay, preparing to dive right into the retail fun-fest that was late-night Christmas shopping.

-x0x-

Alone in the back of the Messer family car, hemmed in by a booster seat on one side and a baby carrier on the other, Adam stared through the window at the passing streets, gaudy in their festive finery. Lulled by the lights and the marital banter that was little more than white noise to his tired brain, he gave his thoughts the freedom to go wandering. Like will o' the wisps, they lured him to and fro through recent memories, drawn by vivid images and strong emotions. The warm scent of Jo as she comforted him. Danny's gleeful look as he chased the ring all over the break room floor. Old Abe's peaceful features, which suddenly morphed into Don Flack's terrified face as he hung from the balcony. Adam shied away from that one, his finger throbbing in sympathy.

"You okay?" Lindsay asked. He could see her worried eyes in the rear-view mirror. Talk about peripheral vision.

"Oh - yeah, fine. Just... remembering something."

She nodded. It was disconcerting how well his friends could read him, Adam decided. Lindsay knew exactly what was on his mind, a fact made clear by her next quiet statement. "You don't need to talk about it. Not unless you want to."

"Okay..." _Thanks,_ he telegraphed silently with his own eyes, grateful for her sensitivity. Even Danny seemed to be holding back on the quips and the teasing, as though they could both tell just how much Adam wanted to get back to normality. With an effort, he roused himself and changed the subject. "It was good of the boss-man to let us off so early."

"Marriage changes a man." Danny spoke with deep solemnity. Adam giggled, as Lindsay rose to the bait.

"For the better, don't you think?" she said, slipping Adam a wink in the mirror.

The banter swelled again, filling the whole car. He let it wash over him; let it drown out all the memories, both good and bad, until only a peaceful emptiness remained.

By the time Lindsay drew up in front of their apartment block, he was fast asleep.

-x0x-

"_There_ you are." The comment was meaningful; _almost_ - but not quite - a sly complaint. Miss MacIver stood in the doorway, arms folded, even before they had walked the length of the corridor.

"How did she...?" Adam was still blinking sleepily.

"Don't ask," Danny muttered with feeling. "Gives me the heebie-jeebies. Miss MacIver," he added, rather too brightly, "you're looking festive today. Is that a new scarf?"

The frumpy woman mellowed, patting her mousy curls and tugging on the flimsy scarlet bow that graced her throat. "Now then, none of that, Mr. Messer," she warned him, even though she was clearly enchanted by his flattery. Her smile, Adam noticed, was lovely; her one charm, and quite a redeeming one when she chose to display it.

Lindsay took the more direct approach. "I'm so sorry we're late. The lights were against us all the way. Will you still be on time for your date?"

"Never you worry. My George, he's used to waiting. _Make_ 'em wait, that's what I say." She tittered. "Drives 'em wild."

Confused by her double standards and strangely unnerved by her floppy red bow, Adam ducked his head - an act which instantly drew her attention. Her eyes were small and dark, and bore through his skull like a gimlet. "Well now, you're a quiet one," she observed.

_Uh oh..._ "Lucy!" Adam exclaimed with relief, as a small, fair head popped into view from behind Miss MacIver's knee-length, vintage dress - a brown-and-white monstrosity that looked as though it were moulting.

"My-Adam," the girl said shyly, even as her expression showed how thrilled she was to see him. He grinned at her and she stepped out, revealing the Disneyfied splendour of her outfit. One little hand clutched her long blue Cinderella skirt, fingers twisting the folds of bright material as though they could not bear to let go of the loveliness.

"Oh no," Miss MacIver said. "There's no Lucy Messer here. Allow me to introduce Princess Lucinda..."

The clear young face smiled up at the plain face and Adam felt a shift in his opinion of Miss MacIver. Kids knew. They saw through the flimflam, and if Lucy liked this woman, with her awkward graces and her trying-too-hard, then who was he to make assumptions based on a random conversation - that, and a floppy red bow?

"Miss MacIver. Princess." He bowed. "My name is Adam the Clown - at your service."

-x0x-

"Robbie's sleeping," Lucy told him confidentially, slipping her free hand into his as the front door closed behind her parents and Miss MacIver.

"I know. Your mom told me."

"He sleeps all the time." She sighed. "It's boring."

"Babies need plenty of sleep." Adam felt rather guilty. What gave him the right to pass himself off as an expert? "Trust me, okay - when he's older, he'll be lots of fun."

Lucy pulled him into the kitchen, where she continued her line of questioning. "Do _you_ have a brother?"

Adam ducked the truth of his unpleasant family connections. Some things were not meant for little ears. "Actually, I _am_ a baby brother. And I'm fun, aren't I?"

"But you're not a baby!" Lucy's face was a picture. She stared up at him with her mother's eyes, trying to work it out. "Oh!" she said at last. "You were. And now you're big. _And_ fun," she agreed. "My-Adam... Can I stay up late?"

"Nice try, Princess Lucinda." Adam smiled at her tactics. "You know, I bet you could give your godfather a run for his money."

"I don't know what you mean," she told him primly, with a look that suggested the topic of bedtime would resurface later. "Is it 'sketty' now?"

"'Sketty' _and_ hot dogs," he nodded.

"With wormy cheese?"

"Hey - you're the princess."

Lucy frowned. "Clowns don't cook, though."

"Yes, they do. Who makes all the custard pies?"

Two stubborn arms crossed over in a familiar stance. Once again, Lindsay stared up at Adam through her daughter's face. "_Aksherly_, that's just foam. Don't you know that? My daddy told me." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "He knows everything."

"Did he tell you that too?" Adam smirked.

-x0x-

It was later, on the couch, watching Princess Aurora sing her hopes and dreams to a whole host of woodland creatures, that Princess Lucinda caught sight of the ring. Like a magpie, her little head tilted and her bright eyes shone. "What's that? It's be-yoo-ti-ful." She pronounced the difficult word with care.

"Yes, it is." Adam lifted his hand. The swelling, he noticed, had finally eased but the curling band of silver was still well and truly stuck to his finger. Lucy stroked the tiny stone, holding her breath as she did so and poking her tongue up over her top lip.

"Is it magic?"

Adam blinked. A strange kind of fluttering beat at his chest. Here at last, out of the blue, was a chance to tell the truth to someone who would not judge him, or disbelieve his story - or call him crazy. The longing was simply irresistible.

"Yes," he said. "It is."

Lucy's solemn nod was the sweetest sight he had seen all day. "I like it. What does it do?" Her eyes grew wide. "Could it make me be a real princess, like Cinderella? And you a real clown?" She stared down at her pale blue costume and her plastic shoes with awe. "I'd like that."

It was tempting. For one brief, childlike moment, Adam thought about saying the words. _I wish..._ He reached out his hand - and pulled it back. Magic wasn't simple and it wasn't a toy. Wishes didn't exist in a vacuum - they had consequences. "I _am_ a clown," he told her softly, feeling the ache of self-awareness in his words. "And real princesses can be very lonely. Don't you think you'd be happier here, with Mommy and Daddy and Robbie...?"

"I guess..." Her bottom lip pouted as she considered his words.

"But you're right," he said hastily, hurrying on in the hope that he could distract her. "This _is _a wishing ring. I've used one wish already - but I've got two left."

""What was the first wish?"

"I... helped Uncle Don with something." A cloud passed over Adam's face. One more thing that didn't need elaboration. "He was... in trouble. The ring made him safe."

"That's a good wish. I like Uncle Don." Lucy giggled, and Adam's heart grew warm again. "He's funny. Like you..." Together, they bowed their heads over the ring. "So," Lucy continued, her manner quite business-like. "What are you going to wish for?"

So many answers to that question. In one afternoon, he'd considered them all, from the greedy (wealth beyond compare) to the ridiculous (x-ray vision), and yet he was still no closer to a practical solution.

"That's just it, Princess," he sighed, with a fond look at the little girl. "Clowns aren't very clever, okay, and this one doesn't want to make a big mistake. I've been trying to think and I just don't know. What would _you_ wish for?"

Lucy's gaze moved up and drifted past his shoulder. He could see the concentration on her face, in the set of her jaw and the roundness of her eyes. _Did I look like that when I was thinking, back at the crime lab? _he wondered nervously.

"I know," Lucy cried out, all of a sudden. She pointed to the film which was playing quietly in front of them. "Like Sleeping Beauty!"

"I... what?" Adam frowned in confusion. "You'd prick your finger and sleep for a hundred years?"

"No, silly," she giggled. "Who'd want to do that?"

"You'd grow a thorn bush round the apartment? Sing to the animals? Turn your mom into a dragon?" He was joking with her now, but it was fun.

Lucy shook her head, laughing even harder.

"Okay... I'm out. You'll have to help me," Adam admitted, nonplussed.

She gave him a pitying look that clearly said, _clowns __**aren't**__ very clever._

"I mean the fairies," she said. "They wished nice things for Princess Aurora because they were kind. Well, all 'cept that ugly Mal... Malif... Maliciffa.."

"Maleficent," he supplied, with a tiny smile.

"Yes. She's mean. _I_ don't want to be mean." Lucy looked down at her hands. "Don't tell Mommy and Daddy - I get mad at Robbie sometimes. He cries such an awful lot when I'm in bed. Does that make _me_ a mean old witch?" She glanced at the black-hearted creature on the screen. "If I wished nice things for Robbie..."

"That would make you the kindest sister in the world." Standing up, Adam curled his finger and beckoned her from the couch. "Come on," he said quietly.

"Where are we going?"

He paused and crouched down in front of the little girl.

"Princess Lucinda has a secret. She's more than a princess," he said. "She's a fairy godmother in disguise..."

Her mouth popped into a silent 'oh!' as Adam led her into Robbie's room.

-x0x-

Standing in the darkness, man and girl, they watched the tiny baby sleep, his little fists curled up, his breathing sweet and steady.

"I love my brother," Lucy whispered, reaching through the bars to stroke his head.

Adam swallowed. Jealousy had no place here. "I'm going to make the wish now," he said huskily.

Nodding, Lucy straightened up again and stared at her friend with the trust and awe of a child late at night on Christmas Eve, waiting for the magic to come. Adam laid one hand on her shoulder and then placed his other hand on Robbie's head, just as she had done.

For one moment - one selfish moment - he remembered the wild, coursing pain that had come with his first wish.

_Man up, Adam, you wuss,_ he scolded himself - and began to speak; wary of the enchantment but eager to test it nonetheless.

"I wish..." he said. Lucy held her breath. "I wish that the lives of these two children, Lucy and Robert Messer, will be full of happiness and that the deepest, most honourable dreams of their hearts will always come true."

On his finger, the ring burned gently, sending a tingle through his limbs. Prepared for the rush of an angrier heat, Adam felt its lack as a strange kind of shock, and he swayed.

"Me too!" Lucy bounced up and down with excitement.

"What?" He peered through the shadows, trying to focus on her face.

"Me too. You wished for me _and _Robbie. That makes _you_ the fairy godmother." Lucy giggled. "You don't look like one."

Maybe not; but as he laughed with her - softly, so as not to wake her sleeping brother - Adam felt a lightness in his heart and a certainty, not often felt, that for once in his life, he had made the right decision.

-x0x-

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Swarovski (she knows why!) and to Kates89, whose stories of Messer family life are so appealing that I found it hard to name their little boy anything but Joshua! (In the end, I chose Robbie, as Robert is the name of Lindsay's father.) Without a doubt, these stories were the inspiration for Adam's second wish. I haven't written about Lucy in this way before, but I found myself thoroughly enjoying it and I hope that you liked it too. Thanks for all of your kind reviews so far! And Happy New Year!**


	7. Chapter 7

**BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR**

**Chapter Seven**

Driving Adam home was far more peaceful than the madness Danny had just endured. He loved Christmas; no doubt about it - but shopping for gifts? That was a riot, and not in a good way. Head down and teeth clenched, he had spent the last few hours battling his way through to perfume counters, toy departments, towers of bargain books... Beside him, Lindsay had been the very model of serenity. "Isn't this fun?" she kept asking him brightly, almost as though she was trying to convince him of the fact. Danny's only response had been a growl. Fun, yeah - if fun was playing Hide and Seek in the middle of the Stock Exchange, or chasing a butterfly through Times Square.

"How did your evening go?" Adam asked innocently from the passenger seat.

"Peachy," Danny muttered. _Go on - ask me for details. I dare you,_ his expression said.

Startled, Adam withdrew from the topic at once and changed the subject. "I had fun with Lucy. She's a good kid. Robbie too."

Clever. Very clever. Snapping out of his bad mood at once, Danny had to admit that the turnabout was nicely done. He could talk for hours about his children. _Who'd have thought it?_ he wondered obliquely. _Danny Messer, the doting dad._

"Yeah..." he grinned, as a pinkish glow stole across his cheeks. "Well, you can probably thank Linds for that."

"Oh, no - you're a great dad. Lucy thinks so; that's for sure. According to her, you know everything." Adam's smirk was less than innocent this time.

"Hehehe..." The pink glow darkened to an uncomfortable red. "Just trying to impart my infallible wisdom... _You _know."

"I do." The solemn tone of Adam's voice made Danny glance at him again. "She's lucky, alright? They both are. They..." He paused. "They're gonna be okay, Danny."

Something. There was something behind his words that Danny couldn't quite make out. A sort of... fervent conviction. "Hey, well, thanks. That's always good to hear." Now it was his turn to change the subject. "So, what did you guys talk about?"

"Princesses, mostly. Magic. And, um, wishes. We watched Sleeping Beauty," Adam said, oddly defensive.

"_Oh_ yeah. She's put me through that one too, about a hundred times by now. Could've been worse," Danny grinned. "Could have been the one with the singing furniture."

"Beauty and the Beast is a Disney classic," Adam retorted loftily, but there was a twinkle in his eye. And, now that Danny looked closer, a gleam of joy, deep down. _Better,_ he thought. _Much better._

"Caught some of that crazy Christmas spirit that's floatin' around, have you?" he chuckled.

"Yes," Adam told him simply. "From your daughter."

-x0x-

His apartment was dark and smelled unpleasant. _Not the nicest welcome home,_ Adam sighed as he turned on the lights. The problem with putting things off was that awkward moment, later on, when they stood in your way and demanded attention. If he wanted to sleep at all tonight, then he had no choice. Time to deal with the matter of his bed.

Slipping out of his coat, he hung it up and turned to check his messages. '02' said the readout cheerfully as the red light winked at him. Feeling both guilt and relief at this distraction, however small, Adam pressed 'play' and waited.

As it turned out, both messages were from Jo; brief requests for him to call her. _Do I really want to?_ he wondered, even as his finger reached for the redial button. Okay, so apparently he did.

"Adam?" said a sleepy voice on the other end of the line.

"Oh, God, sorry. Did I wake you?" What _was _the time? Was it late? Adam bit his lip.

"Catnap, honey; no need to grovel." Already, she was starting to revive, with feisty good humour.

_Typical Jo, _he grinned to himself. "You called me?" he prompted her. "Twice."

"What? Oh, yes. Now then," she said firmly, "don't you go thinking that I'm checking up on you."

"Okay." Adam's nod was a reflex. "Um... what _are_ you doing?"

An awkward pause followed his question, during which he amused himself by picturing the rueful expression on her face. "Well," she sighed at last, "exactly that, I suppose. Don't take it amiss, Adam. I just worry, that's all."

"Too much," he told her wisely, even as a warm glow of happiness spread from his smiling lips right down to his wriggling toes. "But thank you. And I'm fine, Jo. Really."

"Yes, that's what you always say."

"This time it's true," he insisted.

"Mac told me what happened," Jo said bluntly. "That's some day you're having."

"Yes - but it's almost over." His voice softened. "I spent the evening with the mini-Messers. So, you know, I think it ended pretty well. Besides... it could've been worse, right? Much worse..." The last two words were a whisper, barely audible, and meant for his own reassurance, not Jo's bat-like ears.

"I think maybe Don would agree with you on that score." He could tell she was itching to hear his side of the story. "He's a tall guy - and you're..."

"Not?" he offered. "Don't let Mac hear you say things like that. Last time I checked, we're the same height."

Jo stifled a laugh. "It must have been a strain, though, surely, taking Don's weight? Did you hurt yourself at all?"

Adam stiffened. In his mind, the random comment found a random image and connected. "The boss-man tell you to ask me that? 'Cause I'll be honest with you, Jo, he's been looking at me funny ever since. It's enough to make a guy paranoid. A crazy guy, I mean, not one like me who's level-headed..." He was babbling, he knew it, but as usual, he couldn't seem to stop himself - until Jo interjected.

"Well, did you?" she insisted, admitting nothing with her words, but everything with her tone of voice.

"At first," he told her truthfully. No need to go into vivid detail. "Worked out the kinks in my back, so I won't need the gym for a while. And I'm probably two inches taller by now, with the graceful arms of a chimpanzee."

"Lovely image. And your hand?" she asked, confirming his suspicions.

"Is fine. It got better, okay?" And it had, Adam realised, lifting it up for inspection. The swelling had disappeared altogether, the redness had turned pale again and the ring, to all intents and purposes, was nothing more than an innocent band of silver, winking up at him. _Yeah, right,_ he told it archly.

"Okay, Adam. If you say so. I'll leave you in peace - if you'll let me ask one more thing before I go?"

One more thing. An innocent phrase that, more often than not, was the bait for Jo's trap. Pulling a face, Adam answered with caution. "Ye-es?"

"You're going to the Christmas party tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Um, yes..."

"With Michelle?"

"Oh - no. She's not back till Christmas Eve." It was hard to keep the disappointment from his voice.

Jo faltered; unusual for her. "Then... would you let another lady go with you instead?"

"Of course! Know of any?" Adam quipped.

"Oh, you...!" Her breathless laughter showed how grateful she was for the joke, and the favour. "You know what I mean, you bad man. And you can say 'no', if you want to. I don't want to damage your street cred. An older lady on the arm of a player like Adam Ross..."

"Ha ha. You're hilarious, you know that?" Safe on the other end of the line, Adam let his smile grow wide until it almost split his face in two. "Jo Danville. With you on my arm, I'll be up in the stratosphere. No other team could be cooler. We'll blow them away with our good looks and charm."

"Flattery. Nice," she told him with approval.

He giggled. "I got skills. Pick you up at seven, ma'am? I'll even wear a suit, if you ask me to."

"Seven thirty. This lady wants to look her best. Besides, all the best folk are fashionably late. And yes - the suit is mandatory."

"If that means 'no choice', then you got it. Night, Jo," Adam offered, with another surge of happiness.

"Good night, Adam, you nut," Jo said fondly, and put down the phone.

-x0x-

The room fell silent. Adam took a deep breath. Strengthened by his conversation with Jo, he felt ready to take on anything. The blind spot beckoned and so, with his chin up, he turned to face it.

And found that it was just a bed.

"You are _such_ a gullible jerk," he muttered to himself. "What on earth were you expecting? The freaky ghost of Old Abe?"

Not a pleasant thought, and he pushed it away rather quickly. The best thing to do, he decided, was to strip the bed completely and turn it back into a couch for a while. That should banish any lingering sense of the macabre. He set to work at once, tossing pillows over his shoulder and yanking off the top-sheet with such vigour that he spun round completely - and shrieked at the sight of a crumpled, shadowy figure in the corner. "Oh, help!"

The sheet drifted gently to the floor. In the time that it took for the ghostly folds to drop, Adam came to his senses. Once more, he cursed his over-active imagination, covering his confusion with a giggle.

The ghost was a coat. Abe's coat, in fact, left behind in the fuss and the flurry that had surrounded the old man's removal. "What do I do with it now?" Adam wondered, picking it up. He sat down on his bare bed and laid it across his lap. A vile scent rose up and caught at the back of his throat, making his eyes water, but he battled against his reaction. A man couldn't help what he smelled of when his home was an empty doorway or a cold, hard sidewalk. Abe had been a proud man; Adam guessed that - and his coat had been opulent, long ago.

With his fingernail, he picked at the dried mud that coated the edge of the collar. Underneath, his sharp eyes discovered the last, fading traces of twisted gold brocade; a fancy conceit that was now little more than a ratty, fraying rope of tarnished threads. A lump rose in Adam's throat as the weight of his sadness bore down on him.

"No," he whispered. Not again. Action was better than silent, immovable grief. Standing up with an effort, he folded the coat in a loose bundle and placed it neatly on his desk. Then he folded the bed as well, letting it spring back into its former shape with a creaking sigh of satisfaction. The bedding - pillows and all - he rammed into his washbasket, filling it completely. Tonight, his sleeping bag would do.

A shower eased the aching muscles in his back and his arms; hot water sluicing down his body in a welcome stream. He closed his eyes and let the bad thoughts roll with it, sinking down the plughole.

Half an hour later, cleaner and much calmer, he took a mug of hot soup from the microwave and sat down at his computer.

Action, not grief.

A stubborn need was driving him; the need to find out more about the stranger who had died in his apartment. For three straight hours, he ploughed through every public database that he could think of, searching for any sign of Abraham Nazar. His system was good, though not as extensive as that of the crime lab. Even so, as midnight crawled by and his internal clock let out a silent warning in the shape of a jaw-cracking yawn, Adam was forced to admit that he was stymied. Lifting his cramped hands, he rubbed his eyes and yawned again. Time for bed. Tomorrow, he would try again in his lunch hour, if he could get away with it, accessing records that only a crime lab geek could get his hands on. Although, deep down, he suspected that the end result would be the same. Abraham Nazar was not in the system. He was a lost man.

Stumbling over to his couch, Adam could not even be bothered to spin it back into a bed. He dropped down, draping his sleeping bag over himself like a quilt. Sleep pulled at him with grasping fingers and his eyes rolled back long before his eyelashes brushed his cheeks.

In his dreams, Adam drifted through memory and time...

_... He sat beside a tiny princess, smiling and laughing and talking of wishes. A baby slept nearby, in a darkened room. He wished for happiness..._

_... A man's life hung from his fingertips. His heart split with pain and he screamed for his wish to come true. The world tilted..._

"No," Adam whimpered, shifting uneasily on the couch, as the dream took him deeper...

_... He was cold. The world meant nothing to him and he meant nothing in return. He passed unseen through familiar streets; first crowded, then empty, then dark as a burnt-out fire. He wished for warmth - and it stole over him, the last wish of his heart. Something fell from his finger, a part of him, parted forever..._

_... He was hungry; surrounded by hunger. He wished for a feast and it came, but the food was stolen from him by hollow-eyed strangers who had pretended to be his friends..._

_... He was frightened. War raged around him, tearing down his golden sanctuary. He wished to be elsewhere; another place, another time. The world turned and he turned with it, far too quickly. He was lost and tired - and alone..._

_... Like an echo in a lonely cave, a phrase repeated. "Three more wishes..."_

Adam moaned in his sleep. The images were changing quickly now, plummeting backwards so fast that he could barely grasp their essence. Mansions and palaces, riches and avarice; always the theme was the same. And always, behind them, the hungry echo: _"Three more wishes..."_

"No!" he cried again, and wrenched himself upright.

Eyes wide and staring, he tried to control his shuddering breaths. The dream - if dream it was - had felt so real that, even now, he could not shake it. His hands were curled into aching fists. Releasing them, he gazed at the ring on his finger and felt a strange, unaccountable sense of certainty.

The dream spoke the truth. Old Abe had gone too far. He had taken and twisted the magic until it controlled him in return, like a drug that he couldn't forsake. Driven by cunning and avarice, he had passed through - how many years? God alone knew. The visions that Adam had seen were increasingly ancient. No wonder his search had been fruitless. Abraham Nazar was a ghost, kept alive down the centuries through the force of his own desire. Three more wishes. And three more. And more. And _more_...

Adam felt sick. The ring was a curse. And yet...

And yet, it had saved Don Flack's life.

"No." His thoughts swirled around and then settled. He shook his head slowly, afraid to disturb them again. "_You _did that," he said, seeing things clearly at last. "The ring made it happen - but _you_ wished it."

Rising to his feet, he let his racing heart slow down before making a promise, out loud, to himself and the darkness around him. "One more wish," he said. "Just one, okay? And I'm gonna be _so_ careful."


	8. Chapter 8

**BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR**

**Chapter Eight**

"I'm sorry," Jo said, answering the door. "I was expecting my friend, Adam Ross, not some handsome blue-eyed stranger."

"Very funny." Feeling stiff and quite unlike himself in his best suit and a pair of black shoes that only ever saw the light of day when he was due in court, Adam blushed at the force of her open, appraising stare - yet, secretly, he was delighted by the compliment. "I'll have you know, among the lab techs, I was always something of a style guru."

"So I've heard," she grinned. A certain twitch of her shoulders and a hopeful look in her eyes told Adam exactly what he needed to know about the proper response for just such an odd situation.

"You scrub up well yourself," he said, keeping it light, though his own face spoke volumes about her elegant appearance. Her deep blue velvet dress was long and clung to her body in all the right places, whilst somehow maintaining her dignity. The eclectic mix of jewellery that she always wore had been pared down to a minimum; one delicate chain around her wrist that tinkled with charms, two simple rings on each hand and a netted choker at her throat, made from tiny crystal beads and silver wire so thin that it looked like the gossamer threads of a spider's web, covered in dew. "Classy," he murmured, and blushed once again as he tried to quantify his accidental statement. "You look real classy, Jo."

She ducked her head, embarrassed for once by the honesty of his words. "Thank you, Adam."

He nodded. "Okay, then. I'm handsome; you're classy. Let's go rock their world."

Jo's recovery was instant. With a bright smile, she grabbed her purse from a nearby table. "_That's_ my friend," she said.

-x0x-

Truth be told, she wasn't in the mood for a party. Today had been difficult; far from festive and far too distressing. Now she had two options. Number one - find herself a large drink (_several _large drinks) and a nice dark corner where she could indulge herself in a fine display of wallowing. Number two - make the best of things and try to have a good time after all. At least with Adam beside her, the evening had started with a smile.

The sound of the engine died away. Snapping out of her reverie, Jo realised that they had finally found a parking space. Adam leapt out and scooted around the hood, in an act that was quaint but not unappealing, to open the passenger door before she could do it herself.

"Don't tell me. You Googled 'etiquette', didn't you?" Jo tried to swing her feet out of the car but her long dress - snatched at the last moment from the back of her wardrobe - had somehow wrapped itself around her legs while she was sitting down.

A cold white cloud burst from Adam's mouth as he chuckled. "Yeah - something like that," he confessed. "I mean... I was just checking. I didn't want to let you down..." His voice dropped as the sentence died away and she began to understand the thoughtful impulse that had led to his online cheating.

No, not cheating. Research. "When I was growing up, my momma always said that good manners were the outward sign of a good heart on the inside," she told him softly.

Adam shrugged and reached out his hand to help her up. "That's nice," he agreed. "My dad said I was trouble, through and through."

She stopped and stared at him, shocked by his careless words.

"Oh, no - I'm sure he didn't mean it, Jo, okay? Not really..." Backing down at once, he tried to put things right but she frowned at him anyway.

"Some day, Adam Ross, you and I need to sit down and have a long talk," she warned him.

"You mean like therapy?" he joked. "No thanks - I'm good. Hey, there's Mac!"

_Six out of ten,_ she decided, scoring his diversion. Clumsy but effective, thanks to the timely arrival of their boss and his new wife.

His wife.

Jo still couldn't quite wrap her head around it. How many times had she teased him? Told him that he'd make a great husband? Told him to find someone... Well, now he had and it felt so strange. As though he were a different man entirely, even though - God bless Mac - he hadn't altered at all.

She waved to him as he paid the cabbie and helped Christine out of the car - a charming echo. Beside her, Adam had fallen quiet. It was always fascinating to observe the way his demeanour changed around Mac. Since becoming a proper CSI, he had finally lost that 'rabbit-in-the-headlights' look, thank goodness - well, for the _most _part - but Mac's opinion still mattered to him a great deal. Here was one father figure, at least, who did _not_ think that he was 'trouble through and through'. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Hello, Mac. And Christine; how lovely to see you," she said warmly, slipping her arm through the crook in Adam's elbow and steering him across the street. Much to her amusement, he responded in kind, raising his shoulders as he adopted a funny little swagger.

"Hey, boss. Great suit. Hello, Mrs. Mac... I mean, Taylor. Mrs. Taylor." _Oh help, _his eyes said. So much for etiquette. Jo tried to stifle a giggle - unlike Christine, who laughed out loud; a merry sound.

"Adam, please. Don't be formal. We know each other far too well for Mrs. Taylor and Mr. Ross, don't you think? Nothing's changed." She turned back to smile at her husband. "Well..."

True to form, Mac's only reply was a quiet, knowing look - but that was enough. Jo glanced away, feeling oddly intrusive.

"So then," she said in a brisk voice. Taking charge was a cover, but she was far too raw to let them see her true face tonight. "Which way?"

"That way," Adam offered, pointing. "It's just... you know, 'cause I've been there before."

"Works for me," Jo said, dragging him onwards as the married couple sauntered happily behind them.

-x0x-

Something was wrong - he could feel it. Jo wasn't herself, and he didn't know why. Was it Christine? He didn't think so. Jealousy wasn't her style, and neither was pettiness. Him, then? Had he done something to upset her?

_No,_ he thought firmly, dismissing the old gut reaction. Thanks to Google and his own good instincts, he had been a perfect gentleman so far.

Ahead of them, tumbling onto the street through an open door, a warm glow beckoned, heavy with the scent of spices. Nutmeg and cinnamon - strange and familiar all at once; the smell of Christmas and of fairy tales. Perfect for a club that had named itself after the greatest storyteller of all time.

"Scheherazade," he breathed, reading the sign above the golden doorway.

"The Arabian Nights," Mac said helpfully. Adam resisted the urge to boast that he already knew who she was. That the piece by Rimsky-Korsakov had a favoured place in his record collection. That he had read the book - not abridged, but in the fullest version that he could lay his hands upon.

That he was a secret romantic.

"Awesome club," he told them, knowing the sort of remark that they all expected from him. "Who picked it?"

"I did," Christine admitted, looking a little shy. "I know the owner - she's an old friend of mine. Great business for her... A significant discount for the NYPD..."

"Everyone's a winner," Jo quipped, sailing through the door with a bright, cheery smile for the bouncer. Adam darted after her.

"Wait for me," he called. Already, Mac and Christine had been cut off behind them by the crowd in the lobby. "Jo, please. Let me buy you a drink, okay? You look like you need one," he added under his breath.

"No," she said, when he reached her. "You drove - I'm buying the first round. What'll it be?"

"Rum and coke - hold the rum," he sighed.

"Are you serious?"

Adam raised his hands in a gesture of hopeless regret. "I'm the designated driver. I can't drink."

"Which is precisely why smarter folk came in a cab," Jo chastised him. Suddenly, she paused and peered at him more closely. "What's that on your finger? Isn't that the ring?"

_Dammit._ He had been doing a great job of keeping it tucked beneath his over-long sleeve - until now. "Yes," he said. "It's the ring." The real reason why he could _not_ risk a drink. No telling what kind of messed-up wish a tipsy Adam Ross would end up making, given half a chance.

Jo opened her mouth, and he knew - he _knew_ she was going to ask him a question that he simply couldn't answer. Just at that moment, however, an angel dropped by in the form of Don Flack and freed him from his dilemma... by plunging him into another one.

"My man Ross, the hero," Flack grinned, draping his arm across Adam's shoulders and waving his drink in a cheerful salute that was ever so slightly off-balance. "I owe you big time, you know that, don't you?"

Adam's knees threatened to buckle beneath the unexpected weight. "Hehehe..." Strangely enough, Google didn't have much to say about the etiquette of accepting praise for the magical saving of someone else's life. After his unbalanced reaction yesterday, Adam was keen to appear a little more suave and in control. Less tongue-tied geek, more rock star. Less Clark Kent, more... Iron Man.

The thought was too enticing. Lifting Flack's arm from his shoulders with an inward smile, he turned to face him.

"Actually, yes you do. So, that means whatever I ask - you'll do it? 'Cause I've got a list a mile long, and it's crazy... You like fancy dress, right?"

Adam's face was straight and his delivery was deadpan. Don's face, in comparison, was an absolute picture. One that Adam longed to capture, right then and there. A snapshot for his fridge, perhaps. Or a screensaver for the lab computers... all of them. He could do that. He knew the codes... One hand stole towards the cell phone in his pocket, with its handy camera function...

Jo was the first one to break. Her laugh was hysterical.

"Wicked," she cried. "What's got into you?"

Adam shrugged. "I don't know. I guess... I'm happy?" he murmured, almost to himself.

"And kidding, right? You were kidding?" Flack said urgently. "About the fancy dress..."

"And the list," Adam nodded. "I'm not that kind of guy, okay? You don't owe me anything."

"Mm. We'll see. At least let me get you both a drink." Flack set his empty glass on a nearby ledge and fished in his pocket. "My wallet... I just had... Oh! wait, here it is."

"That's a coke for Adam," Jo said. "And for you too, Don, by the look of things."

"Witty," he smirked. "And you?"

"House white. Adam, honey, can you find a table? I need to powder my nose..."

He stared at her flawless make-up. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

Jo's response was an enigmatic smile as she turned and slipped away through the crowd. Flack nudged Adam and pulled a face. "Women, right?" he whispered.

"Right," Adam sighed. One day, in the distant future - if he worked really hard - maybe _then _he might begin to understand them.

-x0x-

The table that he found was small and littered with empty glasses. Club Scheherazade was dark and cosy - in this case, another term for 'small and cramped'. Adam felt bewildered. He really had no idea so many people worked for the Crime Lab. Never mind the fact that every one of them seemed to have brought along their friends, their families, their significant others... their single colleagues in need of an escort...

He raised his head and tried to peer through the crowd. No sign of Jo yet, but he could just make out Don Flack, deep in conversation near the bar. With three drinks in his awkward grasp, he had been waylaid by Jamie Lovato, his partner - and his _partner._ Adam smirked. Not that he could blame the guy. Jamie was hot... _real _hot...

He coughed and looked away before they felt his prying eyes upon them. Rubbing the ring on his finger absently, he let the noise of the crowd swirl around him until it became little more than white noise. There was peace at the centre of the vortex. The world spun around him, yet he was alone with his thoughts. All day long, at the back of his mind, they had waited. Now they were free, bursting for his attention like children leaping up and down with excitement on Christmas Day. Ever the scientist, Adam took control and lined them up in order to study them one by one.

Every thought was a possible wish. And the line seemed endless.

"Okay, so maybe it's my turn," he whispered. The deepest wish of his heart was an old one. It used to be heavy; a sorrow that weighed him down. These days, he bore it with patience and tried so hard to love where love was unreturned. But what if...?

Adam swallowed hard and tried again.

How would it be if he wished that his father could love him at last?

For a moment, the thought was so bright that it dazzled him. Images ran through his head like a movie. Holding, and finally being held in return. His father's voice, saying his name...

But the dream died away. It was beautiful, yes - but who in their right mind would choose to force a thing like that with magic? To cast a spell and make someone love you, when deep down, you knew that it was all a lie? To the end of his days, he would know that the love wasn't real. And the wish would turn bitter indeed.

Sometimes, Adam hated logic. Still, he couldn't abandon it now. How else was he supposed to find the answer?

"No wish for me, then," he muttered. Power and riches no longer appealed; not after his dream and its warning. So, what about his friends? Could he help them instead?

Eyes wide, he gazed around the room, searching until he found them, two by two...

Mac and Christine, dancing. _Dancing..._ Adam's jaw dropped at the sight.

Don Flack, still captured by his siren, drinks abandoned as they laughed together.

Danny Messer, arguing cheerfully with his wife over some ridiculous thing. A marriage where you were free to bicker without fear of reprisal was a thing to be treasured beyond riches. Adam envied the Messer family more than anyone else in his whole life.

Sheldon Hawkes was sitting at a nearby table with his fiancée, Camille. They weren't talking, exactly - at least, not with words. Their eyes said everything they needed to convey. The flame from a flickering Christmas candle shone between them, glancing off the rings that bound them. Another happy couple.

Magic, it seemed, had touched their group already. So much happiness. So much love...

With a scrape of his chair, Adam rose from the table.

"Wait..." he murmured softly, full of concern. Time was passing - and where was Jo?


	9. Chapter 9

**BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR**

**A/N: As this story follows Season 9, please be aware that there are several big spoilers ahead for anyone who hasn't seen it yet.**

**-x0x-**

**Chapter Nine**

"You a little lost there, cutie-pie?"

The question came from a bold-faced woman with silver nails and far too much tinsel wrapped around... well, just _everywhere_. What was it about the festive season that turned people's fashion sense upside down? Adam blinked.

"Oh - um, no. I mean yes, thank you. I'm looking for the ladies' room. Is it left or right?"

"_Ladies'_ room..." The Tinsel Fairy gave a wicked little snigger which was echoed by her backing group - Santa Hat and the Nightmare Before Christmas. Adam recognised the Goth girl and flashed her a lop-sided smile, hoping to charm the information out of her. Ruby was her name; a lab tech who specialised in cast-off and spatter patterns. Gory and very appropriate. She was also much nicer than her sarcastic silver friend. "Hey there, Adam. Party's just gettin' started. Don't tell me you've lost Michelle?"

"No, Michelle's not here. I came with..."

He faltered. Already the trio were brushing past him, eager to rejoin the party. The corridor was narrow and Santa Hat's elbow was sharper than it looked. Ruby sent an apologetic glance over her shoulder as her friends dragged her away. "Just keep going," she called out. "You're on the right track. Tell Michelle I said 'hi', won't you?"

"But I didn't come with..." Adam gave a shrug of defeat as they vanished round the corner. "Well, thanks for nothing," he muttered and turned back to face his problem.

"Left or right?" he asked the ring on his finger, adding a hasty rebuttal. "Don't answer that, okay? You've freaked me out enough, these last few days. I only wish..." He clapped his other hand across his mouth. "Wait, no! No, I don't!" he mumbled hastily through his fingers, trying not to finish the errant thought. One more wish - one more _careful_ wish - and this would all be over. But first he had to find Jo.

"I'll go right," he said in a firm voice, hoping that a sense of conviction would win the day - until he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, a sign on the opposite wall. An Arabian princess was pointing the way to his destination and the way was... left. Of course it was.

-x0x-

She heard the door open and held her breath, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. Crying was so undignified. _You should never have come here tonight, Jo Danville,_ she scolded herself. One moment of weakness, one tear that had brought the flood - and now she was trapped in a claustrophobic box, in a hole of a restroom, wondering how she could run the gauntlet of _all_ her colleagues and make her escape without being discovered.

And Adam - what about poor old Adam? Left in the lurch without a word of explanation. That would surely hurt him. What kind of hard-hearted creature could even _begin_ to consider...

"Jo?" said a tentative voice. "Are you there?"

She let out her breath in a sigh.

_I should have known._

"Can't a lady hab some pribacy, Adab, for pity's sake?" Jo tried hard - _so_ hard - but her clogged nose gave her away. He was no fool; she knew that. Either she had been hit with the cold from hell in the last ten minutes or she had been crying her eyes out.

"Oh... I'm sorry. I'll go..." Adam's voice was penitent but his feet never moved. She could picture the look of indecision on his face.

"You do dow I cad read you like a book," Jo sniffed. Unwinding a fistful of toilet tissue, she blew her nose until it was clear and then, with a second wad, dabbed at her face ineffectually. Outside the cubicle, Adam waited. He looked up in relief as she opened the door. Next moment, his jaw dropped in shock. "Say it," Jo insisted grimly. "Say I look a mess."

"I... I don't really want to," he mumbled. All the same, he glanced at the row of mirrors and then back at Jo's sodden face.

"Made your point," she said. "Nicely done. So tell me, Adam, does Google have a rule for _that_? What to do when you stumble across the wreckage of your colleague in the restroom?"

"My friend."

"Say what?" Jo yanked the rest of the roll from its holder and marched out of the cubicle, straight to the nearest mirror. "Oh, Lord!"

"The wreckage of my _friend_." Moving closer, he caught her hand with his own, halfway up to her face. A bold move, for him. The tissue-wedge fell from her fingers as she turned towards him and closed her eyes.

"I know what you're going to say," she whispered.

"Okay - let me say it anyway."

"You know you're a pain in the..."

"Butt, yes, I know." Adam took a deep breath. "Please, Jo. You can tell me, okay? What's the matter?"

For a moment, there was silence. Jo shook her head before opening her eyes once more and flashing him a look of purest pain.

"I don't... I can't..."

And now, she could see, he was frightened. Almost as frightened as she was. "Look," he said stubbornly. "Jo, I can bear it. Whatever it is. But you can't keep it all to yourself. And... and maybe, you know, I can help..."

Help. How could anyone help?

"It's too late," she said slowly - and this time she had herself under control. Adam's hand dropped.

"Too late for what?"

-x0x-

They locked the door and sat down on the tiles, their backs to the ugly plaster wall.

"Can I tell you a story?" Jo's voice was quiet. Adam nodded, wondering where she was going with this.

"I like stories."

"Good." She smiled at him; a peculiar smile, full of warmth but no humour. Adam tried not to show how deeply it unnerved him. "This one begins with a mystery. Matter of fact, you know some of the story already. Remember the Guardian Angel?"

Of course he did! Hard to forget a man who handed out million dollar cheques like they were candy. "Richard Kemp. Rich guy, trying to prove to the world - and the paparazzi - that Scrooge has a heart after all."

Jo let out a snort of derision that was also quite unlike her. "You know, you're surprisingly cynical for one so young."

"'One so young'?" he giggled, trying to lighten the mood. "Thanks for that. Okay, I know it's Christmas and all - but why are we talking about Mr. 'Ebenezer' Kemp?"

"Because it wasn't him." Jo seemed to be wrestling with her conscience. The look in her eyes was one of deep frustration.

"Wasn't... what do you mean?" Adam said slowly.

"It wasn't Richard Kemp. The creep took credit for an act that wasn't his. He tried to cheapen the whole thing and pass it off as some kind of charitable stunt."

"You're sure about that?"

"Oh, I'm sure." She turned away from him and stared at the row of cubicle doors as though they were the most hypnotic thing that she had ever seen.

"Jo?" he prompted. "Why are we talking about the Guardian Angel?"

"You know," she whispered, still unwilling to look him in the eye, "I promised not to do this."

"Do what? I don't understand." Adam rose to his knees and shuffled around until he was back in her line of sight. Jo gave a helpless laugh at his determination.

"You're a fool," she told him softly.

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment." He sat back and folded his arms, waiting.

"It was Sid." The words burst out before she could stop them. She clapped her hands over her mouth and shot Adam a look of mute appeal.

He should have been surprised - but he wasn't. All of a sudden, an urban tale that had seemed out of kilter now made perfect sense.

"It was Sid," he repeated, as though there had never been any doubt. A smile of delight broke out across his face. "It was _Sid..._ That's wonderful. Why didn't he tell people? Why didn't _you_?"

"Like I said - he made me promise not to."

Which, on reflection, also made sense to Adam. He glanced down at the ring. "So what made you tell _me_? I mean... you know, I'm flattered... but really..."

"Adam. I know I can trust you. You may talk your head off sometimes but, when it comes to keeping secrets, you're the stubbornest mule I've ever met - and Lord, I've met a few. Another compliment," she added, when he frowned.

"Oh - no, I wasn't... I know myself inside out, okay, Jo? Good _and_ bad. You can't offend me. I was just... why tell me the truth about Sid?" A strange, unpleasant feeling, like the sinking of an elevator, lurched inside his gut.

Jo took a deep breath. Her answer was a long time coming.

"Because I went to see him today, in my lunch hour."

"Oh!"

There were no other words - but that one was enough to express every thought, every difficult emotion. Adam cursed himself for his stupidity. All this time, he'd been searching... How could he forget?

A lone tear dragged its way through Jo's ruined mascara.

"Bad?" Adam whispered.

"The worst." She shook her head. "I have to tell Mac and the others tomorrow. Sid didn't... he didn't want to spoil the party... There's no hope. Not any more."

_Yes there is._

Hope burned on his finger, and in his heart. "Can I... would you take me now? To see him?"

"Adam, what?" Jo gave another of those dreadful, soulless smiles.

"Please," he begged her. "It's been far too long." And to his shame, it had. When Sid had retired last summer, he had revealed the true reason to none but his closest friends. Adam had felt a sense of overwhelming honour to be counted among them. At first, he had visited, often. Lately, however, things had been... complicated. One more burden that he could lay at the feet of his father, if he wished to. But he didn't. Charles Ross was old and sick, and the incidents of violent temper that had led to a string of frantic phone calls at work, at home, in the middle of the night... they were no one's fault, really. So said the staff at the nursing home, and so said Adam. Duty. It was a difficult concept but he was finally coming to terms with it - thanks to Mac, and a single conversation on a quiet step. Abe's step.

Adam reached out and grabbed Jo's arm. "Will you do it?" he said.

"I can't," she replied.

"Wh-what?"

"Adam - _you're _the driver. I can't take you. You'll have to take yourself. But of _course _I'll come with you, if you like," Jo added warmly.

_Thank you_ didn't seem like quite enough but Adam said it anyway.

-x0x-

There was a certain, twisted sense of fun to be had in sneaking out of the party without being seen. Jo fixed her make-up, blotting away all trace of her tears, and together they slunk through the corridors, searching for a back door like a couple of teenagers trying to avoid a bouncer. When at last they found it, they burst out into the cold air, laughing in a helpless, giddy fashion. For Jo, he could tell, it was something of a release and he let her ride it out until her stomach muscles cramped and she had to bend over.

"Oh! Ow!" she gasped. "High school flashback."

"Tell me more," he giggled.

"Not a chance." Jo straightened up. "I can keep secrets too, you know."

"Then I'll just have to use my imagination." Adam closed his eyes and smirked. "Oh boy..."

She swatted his arm. "You're a bad, bad man. Have I told you that before?"

"Many times," he said mildly. "But look, you're shivering. We should go now, okay?"

They walked to the car in friendly silence, each one following their own train of thought, side by side. Adam's heart was racing with excitement. Here, at last, was the end of it all - the wish that would free him. The wish that would save his friend and, in doing so, bring great joy to everyone he knew.

Forcing himself to drive within the speed limit was almost unendurable. Several times, Jo had to lay a warning hand on his shoulder. Even so, they managed to reach Sid's home in record time. The traffic was calm and the lights were with them all the way, as though New York City itself had given its blessing to Adam's endeavour.

A young woman answered the door. Adam had never met her before but something about the depth of intelligence in her eyes, and the quirk of her lips, made it perfectly clear who she was.

"Hello, Nell," Jo said warmly. "I'm sorry to call so late. Adam wanted to visit your father. Is he awake?"

Nell shrugged; a motion that spoke of days melting into nights, and time blurring altogether. "On and off. He's dozing right now." She turned to face Adam. "I was just giving the nurse a break but you can sit with him instead, if you like."

"Yes," he nodded respectfully. "I'd like that. Thank you..."

Stepping through the doorway, Jo put her arm around Nell in the friendly manner that only she could get away with. "Tell you what," she said. "If you show me the kitchen, I'll make you a hot drink. Lord knows, I could do with one too."

They walked away down the corridor and Adam was left alone. The door to Sid's bedroom was ajar. Inside, the light was dim and cosy, cast by an elegant standing lamp. As he passed into the room, Adam trembled. Sickness had a scent all its own, sterile and distressing. "Sid?" he whispered.

No reply. Moving to the high bed, which was tilted at a comfortable angle, he stared down at the face he knew and loved so well. To his shocked eyes, it seemed to be the face of a stranger. One month ago - had it really been a _month_? - when he last saw Sid, the cancer had taken its toll but the man was still strong. Now the two had changed places. The man had retreated and the illness was making its final assault. Adam's legs trembled and he sank down onto a nearby chair. The ring felt heavy on his finger, almost as though it shared the weight of his distress.

_Do it now,_ his conscience urged him. If he waited any longer, someone else would come into the room - and how on earth would he explain?

He stared at the ring. Such a tiny thing, and so delicate. Could it really carry out such a miracle as this?

Only one way to find out.

With trembling fingers, he clasped Sid's hand. The calloused palm felt rough and hot, and far too fragile. Now the ring was touching both of them. He hoped it was enough to pass the wish on to his friend.

"I wish...," he began, and his voice cracked. Swallowing, he tried again - and the words were waiting. "I wish that Sid could be healed of his cancer completely, now and for always, and find his way back to perfect health so that he can live a long and happy life with his friends, who miss him."

The heat was unbearable. It flowed along his nerves in a fiery pathway to his brain. Sid moaned in his sleep and Adam pulled his hand away, biting his tongue so as not to cry out. White light filled his vision and he began to fear that he would lose consciousness completely...

...until suddenly it was gone, really _gone_ and the ring fell from his finger. Landing in his lap, it lay there, winking innocently in the lamplight.

When he looked up, Sid was staring straight at him with weary eyes. "Hello, Adam," he said in a voice that was dust-dry but alert and full of pleasure. "Is that you? You know, you didn't have to dress up just to come and see me..."

Adam nodded, fighting back his tears and clenching the ring in his fist as happiness threatened to overwhelm him completely.

-x0x-

**A/N: Next week - the final chapter...**

**Thank you, as always, to everyone who has been reviewing this story so far, and to those who have favourited/followed or simply taken the time to read it.**

**I hope you liked Adam's third wish!**


	10. Chapter 10

**BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR**

**Chapter Ten**

Dirty white clouds filled the air; not fog this time but the billowing breath of a different beast as yet another Greyhound bus nosed its way into the crowded terminal, grumbling at the need to search for an empty berth among the chaos. Adam leaned against the cool glass of a rolling billboard and squinted through the crowds, reluctant to abandon his semi-comfortable post until he was certain that this was Michelle's bus, long overdue and the only panacea for his state of high anxiety. Snow - that festive treat - was causing havoc on the Interstate. As a result, Port Authority was packed so tightly with heaving bodies that even Santa Claus himself would have struggled to tell them apart, let alone grant their sole Christmas wish - to be with their loved ones before Christmas Eve bowed its head and stepped aside on the stroke of midnight.

Right now, it was half past nine. Adam knew because he had checked his watch every five minutes for the last three hours. Beside him, an old man studied his darting eyes and smiled in sympathy. "Wife?" he said. "Or girlfriend?"

Distracted as he was, Adam answered with less than his usual politeness. "What?"

"The lady you're searching for. Wife or girlfriend?" The old man ignored his abrupt tone and raised a ragged pair of eyebrows.

The new bus shuddered to a halt nearby - close enough to tell that it had come from DC, not Atlantic City, home of Michelle's parents. Wrong again. Adam shrank back in disappointment, pressing against the glass as the rush began - a stream of desperate passengers, eager to bargain, plead or bully their way onto anything that moved, no matter the destination. _Anywhere _else was one stage further than here_._ On a day like today, that was progress.

When the swollen wave had finally passed them by, Adam turned to the old man and offered him a rueful grin. "Girlfriend," he said. "But ask me again tomorrow, okay?"

"Ah! I see how it is." The old man nodded. He was short and solid, and sweating with the weight of his winter coat and woollen scarf. Outside in Times Square, the temperature was ominously low. Inside the terminal, too many bodies had turned the place into a melting pot. The old man wiped his forehead and absently held out the same hand to Adam. "Good luck, young man. Is she worth it?"

"Are you kidding? I mean... _yes_," he said fervently, shaking the damp hand. "Oh, yes."

"Glad to hear it. Young love can be such a casual thing these days," the old man sighed. "I was married to my dear Audra for thirty years - I only wish it could have been thirty more."

"That's a good wish," Adam said. "You were happy?"

"Yes we were."

He toyed with a box in his pocket. "You know, I've been thinking a lot about that. And I don't think I knew what happiness was till I met Michelle. That sounds sappy but I mean, you know, not _really_. Life was good, okay - I _love_ my job and my friends are awesome - but..."

"She completes you," the old man said with a wistful shrug of his round shoulders.

Like a tumbler clicking into place, the words made Adam's mouth fall wide open. "Yes," he repeated. "I guess... I don't need anything else."

The old man gave a wink. "You'll be fine, son. Look - is that another bus?"

It was. And this time, with mounting excitement so strong that it threatened to blow a great hole in the top of his head, Adam saw that _this_ really was the Lucky Streak from Atlantic City.

Taking a deep breath, he waved to the old man and launched himself at the crowd in a bull-headed, obstinate manner. The current was fierce and tried to batter him off course, but his sense of direction was good and, at long last, he made it.

The idling bus sent a tremor through the soles of his feet that shook his whole body - or was that nerves? Eyes wide, he scanned the disembarking passengers. They looked weary, rumpled - and relieved. But none of them looked like Michelle.

"Pleasebethere, pleasebethere, pleasebethere..." Adam muttered. The surge became a trickle and the pile of bags and cases in the belly of the beast diminished. "No," he groaned. "Don't tell me..."

All at once, there was a buzzing from the pocket of his jeans. He jumped - and grinned. Pulling out his cell, he read the simple message. _Behind you._

Adam spun round - and _there _was the smiling face of the girl he had missed more than even he realised over the last few weeks. She opened her mouth to greet him but the words never passed her lips. Adam leapt forwards and wrapped his arms around her in a hug so intense, it made him ache all over. Behind him, he was vaguely aware of a ripple of comic applause. Blushing, he let go.

"I thought..."

"I know," she said. "I was the first off the bus, that's all. Thought it might be fun to surprise you."

"Haha," he whispered, cradling her head with his hands and rubbing her cheeks with his thumbs - an intimate gesture. A personal moment, right there in the middle of the most impersonal space in New York City. Their lips met and the world disappeared until, moments later - or was it hours? - she pulled away.

"We shouldn't be kissing like this," she murmured; words that were also just for him. "My boyfriend might see us."

"Tough guy, is he?" Adam whispered in her ear, enjoying the way that her head twitched.

"Tougher than he knows."

"Not right now," he giggled. "Right now, I think my legs have turned to jelly. You're the only thing holding me up."

"Good," she told him, full of glee. "Then you missed me?"

"Yes." The reply was simple. His eyes said the rest. Michelle stared at him and pulled back.

"Adam, what's the matter? Did something happen? Tell me."

"Oh - oh, no. It's just... I've been doing some thinking, okay? A lot of thinking."

"Is that bad?" she asked him, full of mock solemnity. Adam stroked her cheek again. He could stare at her face for hours.

"No. It's good. It's very good."

She caught her breath.

-x0x-

Standing behind Adam as he fumbled with the lock, Michelle tried to stay calm but his bright mood was infectious; fizzy like soda, and warm as a crackling fire. When the apartment door finally opened, he held out a gentle hand to hold her back. "Just... wait there, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed with unusual submission. This evening was important - she had no doubts about that by now - and she was more than willing to follow his lead. Adam was a considerate man but when he chose to assert himself, she always found it very... appealing. Her heart sang in her ears and she wondered whether he could hear it too, as he passed through the doorway and set her bags aside.

The apartment was dark and Adam soon disappeared into the shadows. Michelle clasped her hands together, trying to be patient. Seconds later, that patience was rewarded with a sight that made her gasp out loud. "Oh, Adam!"

Magic had touched the whole room. Strings of fairy lights were everywhere, lighting the apartment with a soft, multi-faceted glow, like a cave full of diamonds or a starlit night. In the corner, near the couch, Adam had placed a miniature Christmas tree that he had clearly dressed on his own, and none too clumsily, either. Its fragrant scent filled the air, mingled with a subtle hint of spice, and she breathed it in with pleasure.

Blinking, she stepped forward - and suddenly he was standing right in front of her, holding out his hand once more, in a welcoming gesture this time. "Merry Christmas," he whispered. "I'm so glad you're back." _Do you like it?_ his blue eyes added urgently.

How much she loved it - and _him_ - was impossible to state right now. It was almost as though they were having two separate conversations at the same time. The spoken one was delicate, restrained and full of affection - but the silent one! That spoke the truth, in shades of love and passion that went far beyond words. Michelle's heart beat even faster as she sensed the turning point was coming - the moment that would change their lives forever, one way or another.

"I was going to cook..." Adam mumbled, clasping her fingers in his own and pulling her into the centre of the room. "But the bus..."

"That's okay - I'm not hungry." Hungry for food, anyway. She devoured his gaze instead, waiting... waiting... _Come on, Adam. You can do it. Don't be scared,_ she told him wordlessly.

Adam's hand slipped into his pocket. Letting go of her hand, he dropped down on one knee, like the gentleman she knew him to be.

Michelle stopped breathing altogether. Around her, the glow seemed to shimmer and dance as tears of anticipation stung her eyes.

"You're crying," he said in astonishment.

"No," she giggled, "no, I'm not."

"That's good. Me neither," he lied with adorable charm. "Michelle..."

"Yes," she breathed.

He opened the little velvet box. "Could you... would you marry me?"

"Oh, God." Now that the moment was here, she knew exactly what to do. Sinking to his level, she let him take out the ring and place it on her finger. "Yes. Of course I will. Yes, Adam. Who else could I possibly love more than you?"

He flushed and bowed his head. "You know, you're the best thing that ever happened to me..."

Michelle stared down at the delicate gold ring with its simple, well-cut diamond. "This is beautiful. Practically antique. Wherever did you find it?"

There was a strange look on Adam's face that she couldn't quite read. "It was my grandmother's. She left it to me in her will. I always thought... Well, I kept it, you see, for the right moment... She was good to me."

Reaching out with the ring on her finger, Michelle grasped the back of his neck and pulled him towards her. Kneeling, they kissed. When they paused for breath, she smiled at him.

"I accept," she said. As if she hadn't known she would from the moment that she saw him at the terminal and guessed his intention. No, even longer than that - from the moment they met.

Happy endings. Turned out, they were real after all and not just a fairy tale cliché.

Night fell, but the brightness in their hearts burned on and when dawn came, bringing Christmas morning, it was beautiful.

-x0x-

The crime lab was quiet and dark. Only a handful of people remained, enjoying the peace that sometimes came with the night shift. The limbo that fell between Christmas and New Year's Day was a curious time when crime levels dropped to a minimum and generosity of spirit seemed to pervade the whole city for a while.

Adam sat in the break room, bathed in the half-light that came from the city outside, and the silent corridor. In front of him was a mug of black coffee, several sheets of paper and the silver box, mended and resealed with a new lump of wax. He wrote on the notepaper busily, pausing every now and then to glance up and check that no one else was watching him.

In a week full of difficult decisions, this one had been surprisingly easy.

The ring that he had given to Michelle meant far more to him than Abe's magic ring, even with all of its power and possibilities. He had kept this one safe for years, tucked away in a drawer. And it looked pretty fine on her finger, he had to admit. Nana Beth - his mother's mother - had been the kind soul who made his troubled childhood far more bearable. Visits to her house had been like a trip to Heaven. Now her ring was on the finger of another angel, just as it should be.

Which, of course, left Adam with a new dilemma. What to do with the magic ring now that he could no longer use it himself? Should he bury it in unmarked ground? Toss it out into the Hudson? Somehow, that seemed like the wrong thing to do - and Adam was learning to trust his instincts implicitly, these days.

No, there had to be a better solution. Someone who could take it and use it for good, just as he had tried to do. One face hovered before him, even now and he smiled as he thought of her. In a sprawling, messy hand, he poured out the whole story for her eyes only. When the sheets were full, he folded them over, stuck them in an envelope and wrote a simple message on the front. Then he rose from his seat, picked up the box and left the break room, padding down the corridor on sure and silent feet.

Would Abe agree with his decision? Adam hoped so. The old man had trusted him with a precious gift and now it was his turn to pass it on with equal discretion. He had tried to track down the strange figure through the years, but every attempt had been met with failure. Abraham Nazar really was a man out of time, it seemed, and a mystery, now and for ever. But still he had managed to have a profound effect on Adam's life and the lives of those around him. The scraps of paper, Adam stuck back in the lining of the box. That was where they belonged, after all. This was no longer his story. He was handing it on to his friend and he couldn't wait to see what she would do with it.

The office was empty and dark; the two desks a startling contrast - one tidy and clean, the other one piled high with papers and post-its and goodness only knew what else. Moving round, Adam used his free hand to clear a space and set the box down in the middle with the letter on the top.

"Good luck, Jo," he whispered, setting his hand on the silver box one last time. Then he turned and left the room, and went home to Michelle.

As the dawn rose and the first rays of sunlight filtered through the windows of the crime lab, they lingered on Jo Danville's desk and Adam's scribbled message on the front of the envelope:

_Be careful what you wish for..._

-x0x-

**A/N: The end! I'm really, _really_ going to miss this story. That being said, I **_**have**_** left it open for a sequel later this year, if anyone is interested? My next fic will be up in a few weeks - a longer serial story involving the whole team, with Adam at the centre, of course.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, favourited, followed or read this story. You made it such a wonderful experience, with your support and your kind comments. I hope that you enjoyed the ending. Smuffly in a romantic mood - doesn't often happen, but I had a lot of fun with this chapter!**

**See you soon!**

**Smuffly**


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